Invincible
by TheSoggyBug
Summary: In the Quarter Quell, the rebels did not carry out their rescue mission. With everyone else dead and only Katniss and Peeta left, they have to find a way to carry on, even if it means putting the memory of "that night" behind them... T for LOTS of fluff.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, this starts off the day before the Quell starts. That'll be obvious a few pages in._

_It's dedicated to my beautiful friends: Kasey, Addie, Hannah and Haleigh. You all were so wonderful letting me pester you until everything was perfect, and I send out a personal apology for the awkwardness in some of the conversations that had been held._

_Thanks to all of my beautiful readers, and here is my story! Please enjoy!_

_The song for it is "Invincible" by Muse. _

_Disclaimer__: I do not own anything Suzanne Collins does. Duh. (:_

**oOo**

It was not a good day so far. Dinner was a disaster. Haymitch got into his emergency supply of alcohol and began yelling at everyone within yelling distance. Sadly, that included me as well, so I ended up stomping out of the room we were eating in, grumbling offensive names at my mentor. It was only when I got to my room I realized Peeta was following me. As always, he did his thing where he asked if I was alright, and then held me for a minute. I asked him for a few minutes to myself, and that's where I stayed.

The pillow seam was making imprints in my cheek, I knew it, but I still didn't move. The covers were tangled around my knees, but thank goodness I had the presence of mind to put on clothes after my shower. Lately I'd been taking to the habit of sleeping nude whenever I went to bed upset (the times I didn't, Peeta was with me), which was probably not a good habit to keep. Underwear is a necessity, definitely.

A knock on the door rose me from my thoughts. I didn't answer, assuming whoever it was would just go away if they thought I was asleep. They knocked again. Did I lock the door?

My question was answered a few seconds later, when a slight rattle of the doorknob and swish of the door as it swung slowly on its hinges sounded from behind me. I sat up to thrown something at my intruder, but stopped.

"Can I come in?" Peeta asked, cocking his head so where blond strips of his hair fell in front of his eyes.

I wiped my eyes with a hand and just looked at him, trying to keep the misery from my face. Of course, he took that as a "yes" and walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. Before walking over to my bed, he paused, taking in the picture of my nightgown draped loosely on my shoulders and chest, exposing more bare skin than I usually do. If I wasn't already blushing from the longing look in his eyes as he stared at my body, I was when he came over to touch my hair.

I never knew what to do when he was like this. He was like this just about every day, but I'll never get use to his love for me. When he stares at me, whether directly or through the corner of his eye, I get this guilty feeling like…he shouldn't be staring at _me_. I'm not worthy of any kind of affection he has to offer, because I can't offer any real affection back. At times I try, if only for his sake. If he kisses me on the cheek, I catch his eye and smile. If he takes my hand I squeeze it. If he kisses me, I kiss him back, but the kisses were the most confusing.

We haven't had a real kiss in ages. The strangest thing was…I _missed it_. I missed his real kisses. If there was a moment when there were no cameras and he kissed me, I knew I'd kiss back. But why? _Why_? I didn't understand my feelings for him any more than he did.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" Peeta sat on the bed next to me, not touching me again. "You seemed really upset when you left the dining room."

"I'm fine," I found myself telling him, avoiding his gaze. "I don't know why I was so upset. Haymitch is drunk every day. I don't know why I chose this particular one to go off about it."

"There's a lot of stress, I don't think anyone blames you for being upset." He cocked his head again and gently tucks a bit of my hair behind my ear, a display of warmth I couldn't help but feel even guiltier about. "We go into the arena tomorrow."

My head ducks and I swallow, starting to wring my hands on my lap.

"Katniss?"

I still don't turn to look at him, feeling my eyes beginning to sting.

"Hey," Peeta's voice was gentle and quiet, and he puts his finger on the other side of my chin to turn my head to face him. "What's the matter?"

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and blinked away hot tears. "What do _you_ think? The Quell is tomorrow. I don't know if I'll ever get to see my mother again. Or Prim or Gale or… I don't even know if I'll ever get to go home again."

"Don't worry…" He wraps his arms around me, a familiar move that I welcome, snuggling into his chest and burying my eyes away from the terrors of the world in his chest. "I'll make sure you get to see them again. There's no way I'm letting you die. I promise, okay?"

He doesn't get it. I felt saltwater touch my cheeks and I sniffed them up. Unable to answer Peeta with my voice, I just nodded.

After a few minutes of holding me tightly, Peeta loosened the covers around my waist and pulled them up to my shoulders, laying me down on the pillows. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been tucked in, but I didn't mind. I let him stretch out on top of the blankets next to me and rest his face on my hair.

"Hey, Peeta?" I said quietly, rubbing away another stray tear.

"Hm?"

"What are we going to do during the Quell?" I strained my neck upwards to look at him. "How are we going to…?" I stopped talking and sighed, unable to find words to finish the sentence.

Peeta's expression was sad, and he touched my cheek. "What we've been doing since the first Games. Pretend."

"But I don't _want_ to pretend anymore," I argued, sitting up. The nightdress' neckline, being very large and unrestricting, slid down past one of my shoulders and I tugged it back up in annoyance. "I'm tired of pretending for the invisible cameras, it feels dirty and wrong and… I can't base my life on _pretending_. I'm sick of it. I've done it enough."

From sad to upset Peeta's look changed, and he sat up with me. "You've been doing that for a year. If you stopped pretending during the Quell who knows _what_ would happen. But you suddenly 'falling out of love with me' would not fly very well with everyone."

"Who says if I stopped pretending I wouldn't be in love with you?" I snapped, balling up my fists.

He raised an eyebrow, suddenly confused. "…You did, Katniss. You say. You have been." Now the depression was more evident than ever, and he wrapped his arms around his knees, not looking at me.

Now it came to the real question. I've tried to face it for months, but to no avail. Would my feelings be real if I accept them? I didn't know the answer. I didn't know what to say to him. The truth is always best, but I didn't even know _that_.

"So what _do_ you feel?" Peeta turned his head slightly to glance at me. His expression was of sorrow.

My throat clogged up. "…I don't know. I don't know what it is I feel."

He stood up and began to leave.

"Peeta!" I jumped up and ran after him, yanking him to a stop by his arm. When he froze to look at me with such a heartbroken gaze I was rendered unable to speak. I opened my mouth but nothing came out but a puff of air. How come it was so hard to tell him? How come it was so hard to know _what_ to tell him?

He wouldn't let me look away from him; his slate-blue eyes bored into mine with such ferocity I barely recognized him. It was a look I did not receive often from him.

"Tell me, Katniss," His voice, unlike his face, was soft and pleading, "why I have to stay here. What am I staying for? Am I staying for a girl who loves me or am I staying to please an audience? Am I staying because you want me to or because _they_ want me to?"

Little tears were pricking my eyes, and I had to fight to keep them away. "I want you to stay," I whispered, barely audible.

His eyes were starting to tremble, too, and Peeta reached up to put his hands gently on each of my cheeks. "But _why_?"

_Because I love you_. The words couldn't come out. They came out as more puffs of air. _What the hell are you waiting for, Katniss? _What AM I waiting for? This is as much of an invitation I'll ever get.

I took a deep breath and bit my lip, cautiously sliding my hands up to rest on his collarbone. "Because…"

A thunderous, masculine pounding on the door broke me away from my courage and I made a small noise from my throat while backing away from Peeta.

"Dammit," Peeta hissed, letting out an aggravated sigh.

"Are you in there, Katniss?" Haymitch's loud, drunken voice comes from the other side of the door.

As quietly as I could, I snuck over to the door and locked it.

"Come on, sweetheart, I didn't mean it."

I let out an inaudible sigh and went back over to Peeta. There was no way I was talking to Haymitch just then, especially when he was drunk. And after what he said to me at dinner, I _really_ wasn't going to talk to him.

Thankfully, after a few minutes, everything outside in the hallway was silent again. Whatever guts I'd gathered for telling Peeta what I was about to vanished, and it was obvious that he knew it. Though he saw my reluctance, he quit his previous offended display and offered both of his arms out to me.

When I folded myself up against Peeta's chest, I felt his breath on my temple.

"Why do you want me to stay?" he whispered, and I could feel his fingers curl around my hips.

I shuddered at the intimacy. Things between us have never been too serious, minus kisses in the cave and mushy words exchanged in front of cameras and the lies proposed to the Capitol. There was nothing too 'private' and 'friendly' between us. This was new and alien and…I liked it. I couldn't help it. Part of me felt ashamed. Embarrassed. But I _wanted_ to like it. I _liked_ liking it.

Swallowing fear, I bent up onto my tiptoes and put my lips to his ear. "…Because I love you."

It was Peeta's turn to shudder. His hands tightened on my waist. "Honestly?"

I nodded. "…If-if this is the last night we have before the Games, the last night with no cameras watching us, I needed to tell you."

"But is this…" He looked in awe, but also frightened a little, as was I. "…Are you just saying that to shut me up for a few days? Are you actually sure? Are you telling me the truth?"

"I promise, Peeta." Guilt rose up in my throat like bile and it was impossible not to feel the self-hatred spike me in the heart. "I'm sorry I've been so mean to you. You don't deserve it, and up until just recently, I didn't realized what I had. I _do_ love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to get it out."

I was again unable to look him in the eyes. "I…I love you. I love you." It rolled off of my tongue and repeated itself just for the sake of repetition. "I love you, Peeta."

Apparently, I didn't _need_ to look into his eyes. He let me face away from him as he leaned forward to whisper to me again. "…Prove it."

Maybe in other circumstances I would have been uncomfortable and stepped away from him. Right then I was just frozen, frozen with the feel of Peeta's hands on me. Without really thinking much about it—or maybe I DID think about it, but I was thinking about how I didn't want Peeta to say anything to me. I turned around and kissed him. It could have been expected, but the gasp that bubbled from Peeta's mouth tickled my lips and tasted like berries. My hands involuntarily gripped his shoulders for support, and it was a lot more intense than just a kiss. I could feel his fingers clenching at my hips, pulling me tight to him.

Bruises would surely form where he was holding me now; my hips and our mouths which were locked with a passion I'd never known before. It was so strange kissing without cameras, but part of me wanted it more than anything. I didn't have to worry about doing anything right. Surely Peeta wouldn't mind if I messed up on something. We were both still new at this. New, but no more real than anyone else.

"Peeta," I said between kisses. He had one of his hands behind my head, now, and the other remained on my hip.

Peeta pulled away a little to look into my eyes, and I saw that they were bluer than a midday sky and happier than I had seen them in a long time. He said what I was about to. "I love you."

I stretched up to put both of my arms around his neck and kissed him again, tasting the sugar of his happiness.

Would this end, I hoped not. My heart soared like a bird every time he touched me. He was gentle at first, caressing my face and shoulders and stomach. I let him do what he pleased; it pleased me, too. But when he set me onto the bed and began to crawl on top of me, I had to stop him, out of instinct if nothing else.

"Peeta," I panted, putting two of my fingers to his lips where they were roaming down my bare collarbone.

He immediately froze and slid off of me, beginning to stammer out apologies. I could feel his hands trembling as they removed themselves from my waist. His face obviously painted with upset and was cursing inside his head. Peeta rolled onto his side and sat up, a hand halfway extended towards me in apology.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean—" he began, looking genuinely frightened, but I cut him off.

"Peeta, just stop." I caught his hand and attempted to stop its shaking. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He was breathing heavily (as was I, but I wasn't sure why _he_ was). "I'm sorry, I got carried away, I won't—"

"I said _stop_." My words were harsh, and we were able to catch our breath at the moment when I startled us both into silence.

When Peeta's face lost some of its self-loathing, I put his hand on my cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just…can't."

"I-I know that," Peeta scowled at his other hand. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"So did I." I lowered his hand and gently put my arms back around his shoulders, just to hold my face to his throat and breathe. "I want to. But I can't, you know I can't. There's no way to protect us right now, and I can't afford to be carrying something besides a heavy heart right now."

Peeta looked absolutely wretched, and wouldn't respond to anything I did. "…We won't ever, will we?"

"Peeta…" I sighed. "We're in the middle of the rebellion, about to go into an arena for the second time. That is the last thing I'm thinking about."

"If this really is the last private moment we get together…" Peeta cups my head with his hand and presses our cheeks lightly together. I could feel his eyelashes tickle the skin of my temple, and he gently kisses the line of my jaw. "And if we're going to die, I want to die knowing that there was at least one moment in my life when I was allowed to completely love you."

More guilt crept into my mouth and I let it out in a silent groan. "Peeta…"

"Shh…" He wraps his arms around me and cradles me against him, not with passion but with friendship and worry and fear. "If you don't want it, that's fine. I'm not going to push you. You know I'd never do that."

At that point I start crying. Not loud or wet sobs, but sobs still, and I bury my face in Peeta's clean-smelling chest in a worthless attempt to block the pain. There were so many things that was wrong, I couldn't pin one thing I was crying about.

"I hate you," I sobbed into his chest while pressing him tighter.

I could feel the confusion in his hold now. "Ka—?"

"I hate you for being so selfless and letting me get my way all the time." I sniffed, and buried my face in his neck again. "You never get what _you_ want…"

"Don't do it just for me. I'd rather not do it all that do it just for me." Peeta petted my hair, though his touch was less yearning than it was before. "Please don't cry."

Swallowing, I slipped away from Peeta's arms and pull the nightdress back over my shoulders again. "Never mind, Peeta." Avoiding his gaze, I slipped under the covers and laid there, facing him. "Are you staying?"

Peeta turned around and gave me a slightly sad, raised-eyebrows look. "Do you want me to stay?"

This surprised me. "Of course I do."

He looked contemplative for a minute before smiling a crooked, gloomy smile and, after taking his shoes off, slid into the bed next to me. I welcomed his arms graciously and huddled close to him, not caring about the fact that in the morning, we were most likely going to be found out. I could feel Peeta tighten his arms around me and his breath tickling my hair as he breathed.

Peeta's so…perfect. I know that sounds cheesy and unlike me, but I think about myself and the predicament I'm in, and I think about Peeta. About all he's sacrificed for me and my family. He has his days, but everyone does. The fact that he's willing to die for me or anyone in my family, endure my constant unpleasantness, never get his way, and _still_ love me. Maybe he's not perfect, but he's a gift and a blessing and he deserves so much better than I can give. Though he deserves better, he still wants me, so…

So I guess it's up to me to make sure he gets better than what I've been giving him. As long as he's happy, I'm happy. I'm going to die anyways. It's not like it would make a difference in the long run.

Opening my eyes and turning around to face Peeta, I found him with his eyes open as well. He was staring off at the wall with a blank expression on, but when I shifted around to look at him, he snapped out of it and gazed down at me with adoration.

"Are you okay?" He gently touched my cheek with his thumb, while still cradling me with his other arm.

I nod, freeing my hands from my sides to fiddle with the buttons on Peeta's shirt, not to undo them but to have something else to look at other than his sweet, concerned expression.

Peeta presses his lips to the corner of my mouth, making me shiver. "Is anything the matter?"

For a minute or so I didn't say anything. I was relaxed against his chest and gazing up at him with a deliberate look in my eyes. "You really want to, don't you, Peeta?"

He smiled sadly and looked away. "Of course. But that doesn't change anything."

"You really, really want to?"

"Katniss," Peeta unwound his arms to cup my face softly, running the tips of his fingers on my cheekbone and jaw and lips. "I _always_ have. From the moment we officially met. But—"

"Then let's do it." When I curl my hands around his neck, I could feel the sudden throb of his heart. Not only that, but his face froze, somewhere between a look of astonishment and excitement and frustration.

"No, Katniss." He was careful removing me from around his neck and scooted a few inches away to the other side of the bed.

"But I want to." I didn't know what I wanted. Maybe it was this. I hoped.

"No." Scowling slightly, Peeta rolled over onto his other side.

It wasn't really in me to give up so easily, especially when it meant going to sleep upset—and it was the last night we're spending together before the Quell.

Moving closer to Peeta, I put both my hands on his shoulder blades and nuzzled my face into the back of his neck. "Peeta…" I whispered. "I love you."

Instead of ignoring me—like I had the suspicion he would—Peeta let out a frustrated sigh and rolled back onto his other side, suddenly wrapping me up in his arms with an embrace that momentarily stunned me.

"Why do you _do_ this to me?" he hissed in my ear, voice soft and agonizing like the voice of a heartbroken man. "I love you so much, why do you choose _now_ to tell me when it's our last night together?"

Unable to come up with an answer for that, I just shrugged in his arms.

"You know it's just going to be harder now, right?"

"Yes, I know that," I told him after a pause.

Peeta exhaled noisily for the millionth time, letting it out down my back. "… Why didn't you just go on letting me think you were pretending? It would have made this easier for me, thinking that it wouldn't hurt you if I died. Why didn't you?"

Honesty made tears slip through my eyelashes but I didn't reach up to wipe them away. "Because I don't think I can live without you."

My reflection could be seen in each of the two crystal drops on either of Peeta's blushing cheeks.

_I made him blush_.

Without thinking much about it, I stretched up to kiss him.

A thousand kisses we'd shared, and non other was as enjoyable as that one shared that night. It tasted like a crackling golden fire on a cold night. It tasted like a day of sunshine, of hope, of the salt on his skin. At the same time we kissed, I felt something unknown pull taut my heart and I knew we were both crying, though care I did not.

When that first kiss ended, merely seconds after it had begun, I put my arms around Peeta and let him curl around me again. He kissed me again, gently, and didn't stop, letting his lips taste the bitter water on my cheeks and letting them sneak under my jaw and down my neck. I didn't stop him once, knowing I loved him. That was the only thing I knew of.

_I love you, Peeta. I love you_. I whispered it in his ear over and over just in case I forgot the words, though I knew I never would.

I loved him. Peeta Mellark.

I loved the way he held me, I loved the feeling of his fingers in my hair, of his little kisses on my throat. I loved his messy hair. I loved his boyish grin and eyes the color of a midday sky. I loved his arms that provided comfort during the worst of nightmares. I loved the sound of his voice when he was whispering to me, just me. I loved the way his nose crinkled up when he laughed, I loved his _laugh_, I loved everything about him.

I tried to tell him that one more time, but ended up swallowing the words as the ticklish feeling of his mouth on the nape of my neck stopped me.

Peeta stopped to pull his face up to mine, and it was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. "…More than the air I breathe." He traced my lower lip with his pinky finger.

I kissed him again, unable to look at his perfect face anymore. Our lips met and with a little gasp, it was suddenly more. Peeta had gripped my nightdress' material at the thighs and pulled me clumsily against him once more, shortening the length of my gown by a great deal. It was just hard not to laugh with joy against his mouth as I twined my fingertips in the fine blond hair in the back of his head.

Before that day I hadn't really known how much I'd wanted to do that. Whatever I had been missing was made up as Peeta and I held each other there. Our tongues were suddenly no longer our own, and our heartbeats danced against each other, but somehow in the same rhythm. I could feel Peeta's like it was my own.

Several times I felt Peeta put his lips to my ears, but only strangled gasps come out. No words. It was only after many tries he managed to speak.

"Katniss…" The word was spoken with such intimacy I may have imagined it. He spoke it as though it was a secret he was unable to keep, or as though it was meant to be the wind singing through the branches of the great pine. Too wonderful to belong to me, yet it _did_.

Trying to suppress shaky breaths and attempting to still my galloping heart, I touched his cheek with my mouth. "Yes?"

"….I want this."

I curled my fingers around his shirt collar and kissed his cheek again. "So do I."

Peeta's fingers, trembling, lifted up to begin undoing the first button. I watched carefully and cautiously. He was shaking so badly it was impossible to undo the buttons, so I kindly slipped my hands around his to steady them. The first button was free.

"I'm afraid, Katniss," Peeta whispered in my ear, and for a moment, I truly was too. He sounded terrified, words so raw with fear I wanted to stop everything to hold him and make his bad dreams go away.

But I was afraid, too. I was afraid for what lies ahead because I didn't _know_. I didn't know what was going to happen.

I stroked my finger gently across Peeta's flushed cheek. "…I'm worried, too."

"I don't want to hurt you." His breath was coming out in terrified gasps, even though the most we'd done was undo the first button of his shirt. He was still trembling from head to toe, though, and I wanted to fix it.

"You're not going to hurt me," I said softly back, letting my shoulder support his head as we lay. "We'll be fine, Peeta."

"I'm scared…" Those words were spoken from him near silent, and I gave him a small kiss on the lips.

With my help the rest of the buttons were undid and his shirt was off in a few minutes. I took it as slow as necessary, because of the ever-growing look of fear of Peeta's face and the feeling of ever-growing anxiety in the pit of my own stomach. Every time it almost managed to consume me, I focused on how sugary Peeta tasted and it goes away again, washing away as if in summer rain.

"There are ties in my back," I told Peeta quietly when he'd pause to take a moment to himself to breathe and gather courage. He looked at me with that …_face_ again and he was there helping me sit up on my knees.

I felt his hands from my thighs to my hips and up my shoulder blades. After loosening the ties to my nightdress with unsteady fingers, Peeta lifted it over my arms and dropped it to the floor next to the bed. Underneath I was just wearing a pair of small, black Capitol underwear that I had to admit felt a lot more embarrassing to be caught in than the ones I was used to wearing.

Peeta didn't move for a little bit after that; I thought he'd frozen himself. I had the urge to cover my bare chest up, but I didn't. My back was to Peeta, and I could feel him up against me. His chest on my back, his hands curling around onto the skin of my very lower belly. Shivers were constricting my stomach and up to my diaphragm. I was so _aware_ of his skin, everywhere he touched me and his legs which were bent on either side of me.

At one point, Peeta stilled his hands and rested his forehead on my shoulder.

"Are you still scared?" I asked him quietly, turning my head to look at him sideways.

"Terrified," he replied simply.

Twisting the rest of the way around, I put my arms around Peeta's neck and crashed my lips against his, feeling his tongue with mine again. Peeta growled softly against my mouth. He slid on top of me and pressed me to the pillows of the bed. It was like nothing else I'd ever done.

It seemed like yesterday we were friend holding hands in the greenhouse and giggling about meaningless things with our superiors. Today we were in love and about to make it as well. I was still anxious, but it helped that Peeta was no longer whimpering every time we touched.

He enveloped me with kisses on my face and jaw and throat and chest. Neither of us seemed to have a care in the world other than each other.

When I moved my hand down and slipped one of my fingers under Peeta's belt, though, he let out a strangled cry and pulled his face away from me.

"I'm sorry," he groaned, doing a not-so-successful job at maintaining regular breaths. We were both gasping for breath, but he was seeming to have extra trouble with oxygen. "I'm sorry," he said again, clenching one of his hands into fists. "I'm so terrified I'll hurt you. I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you."

"I'm not hurt, Peeta. I'm fine," I reassured him calmly, holding our lips just inches apart. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

He chose not to answer for a few seconds, and when he did, it was not an answer.

"…I love you."

I cupped his face in my hands and kissed each corner of his mouth softly. "I love you, too. You know I do."

Riddled with fear and anxiety that turned into something beautiful, Peeta and I shared our last night together under the covers, only dreading the light of day.

**oOo**

_So, you all know this was meant to be a one-shot that was rated M. Thankfully, I made it a little less graphic and decided to continue it, so a thanks to everyone who has inspired me!_

_Please review. Love you all!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, so here's the thing. Since I finished the Lo and Behold series, I'm focusing on this one—even though it was meant to be a oneshot. I'm going to go through the 75__th__ Games, but most of it will remain the same as in the book, so I'm going to skip over a good majority of the Quell. Some words will be taken from Catching Fire, so I don't own them, but I do apologize if it's at all boring or whatever._

_Enjoy!_

**oOo**

**THE NEXT DAY…**

I woke up to no nightmares, but sore and exhausted. Peeta snored away, even when I shook him a little, so I decided to let him sleep.

As embarrassing as it was to admit it, we'd made a mess. Clothes were strewn on the floor, and the lamp that had been sitting on the nightstand had been accidentally knocked down and lay in pieces on the floor. Don't even get me started with the bedcovers. Blushing profusely—though there was no one to be humiliated in front of—I picked up the laundry and wore Peeta's button-down shirt while cleaning up the porcelain from the lamp.

Through all of that, Peeta slept. I didn't blame him.

After cleaning the last bit of floor, I slumped into the shower to clean myself up. In there, I reluctantly scrubbed away the traces of last night left on my skin and washed my hair. After I was all done, I wrapped myself in two towels and went out to the room to get some clothes.

While I was rummaging around in the wardrobe with one hand (the other held a towel wrapped around me), Peeta woke. He seemed attuned to the sound of female clothes getting rustles around, or at least the swish of a towel being worn after a shower.

"Good morning," he said casually from across the room, propping himself up on the backboard of the bed.

I tried not to act too startled or self-conscious about him catching me like this, so I just slung some clothes over one of my arms and tried to smiled at him. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Surprisingly." A contemplative look narrowed his eyes as Peeta stared at the ceiling. I watched for another second, just until his concentration melted into a look of despair and apprehension.

Feeling like I should abandon the clothes flung over my arms, I set them back in the drawer and sat on the bed next to Peeta. The towel was thankfully large enough to cover me as I sat, but it was still a towel, and I was still practically naked.

"What is it?" I asked him. Instead of reaching over to touch his face, I just gripped the cloth around me. That was a very stupid question. I knew what was wrong.

Peeta let out a snort and met our eyes. His were shiny with grief. "What do you _think_, Katniss? We have just about half an hour before we're retrieved. After that it's those god-awful quarters under the arena. And after that?" He laughed, bitterness tinting the noise like sour milk. "Who knows? Only one of us is going to make it out at best."

A lump was forming in my throat.

"I know I wouldn't want to be the one to get out. Not only would it be another lifetime of torture from the Capitol, but it would be a lifetime without _you_." Peeta sat up and leaned forwards on his knees, letting the covers shift around his bare waist. "No more you, no more 'us', no more beautiful things happening like last night. Nothing."

A tear of self-loathing squeezed out of my eye and I brushed it away, trying to suck in all of my feelings without succeeding. All of the conversations and planning Haymitch and I have had, plans on getting Peeta out and not me. I wanted him to live, but seeing and hearing his distress as more than enough to convince me that he wouldn't live without me.

It wasn't like I wanted to die. More like, I just didn't want to live without him.

"We'll figure it out," I choked, finding Peeta's hand with my own and gripping it reassuringly. "I don't want to be the survivor of this pair either. It would kill me."

"What can we _do_ though?" Peeta wasn't about to be done ranting. He used his free hand to rest his forehead on, and his face scrunched up with an effort not to lose it. "There isn't a choice."

"…We always have a choice."

"Not with the Capitol, we don't." Letting out a frustrate sigh, he let go of my hands and stormed out of bed, not bothering to cover himself up while yanking random clothes from the wardrobe. "One of us is going to die. They won't make another exception to the rule."

"We won't be an exception. We'll just make them bend the rule."

A stupid glimmer of hope lit in the back of my head, only to be extinguished the moment I actually thought into it. I finished the thought, though, with as much courage I could muster.

"We'll just have to find a way _around_ it. We'll think of something."

Saying that was mostly just to reassure myself, and I had to stand up, grab my clothes, and lock myself in the bathroom before I did something like cry.

In there, I sat on the toilet with the seat down, elbows on my knees and head in my hands.

That was stupid. So, unbelievably stupid. Everything about last night was reckless and rash and _idiotic_. There were probably security cameras in the room. People knew what went on between us.

I should regret it. I _did_ regret it, but something about those hours wrapped in each other was more wonderful than anything. I loved Peeta.

Or did I? There were so few people I let worm inside of me. My heart was not an open door. But if love was not a certain feeling I had towards the boy with the bread, what _was_?

Despite having ignored the world last night, I was forced to open my eyes then. Realize how truly moronic my actions were.

I hated myself for taking time off from reality. I hated the Capitol for making me hate myself more than necessary.

Tears were stinging my eyes, but I forced myself to suck it up and get dressed.

_Look on the bright side, Katniss_, I said to myself. _At least they can't kill Gale because they think you don't love Peeta._

Gale…

My day was just getting better and better.

A soft knock came from the door.

"Katniss…" Peeta's voice nearly comforted me, even through the wall. "Effie's going to be here soon. You have to come out."

Not even trying to conceal my dread or hatred, I shoved open the door and stumbled out, running straight into Peeta's freshly-clothed self without really meaning to. His arms began to wind around me automatically.

I flinched away, burying my face in my hands. "…We shouldn't have done that."

Peeta's brows furrowed, arms still outstretched hesitantly, though the second I got those words out, I couldn't' stop, vomiting up my feelings before he got the chance to say anything back.

"There are probably cameras, and-and people probably know. We're only seventeen, it was stupid, we're going to pay for it. My mother's going to be so ashamed and—"

I hadn't even thought about my mother.

Peeta grabbed my upper-arms before I could go on. Garbled, choking sounds were trying to rip from the back of my throat. Tears threatened to pour down my face. My whole body was trembling like a leaf.

He held me a little closer than arms-length away, eyes trying to bore into my own.

Unable to look at his familiar, comforting face, I hung my head. "…The Gamemakers are going to kill me."

"No, they won't." Peeta's voice sounded a lot more convinced and resolute than I'd ever felt about anything to do with the Games. "What happens in your private life has no impact on how the Games are played out. What happened has no direct effect on the Capitol whatsoever! Even if they do know, they have no choice but to ignore it because no one else does."

His words held an amount of truth to them, but so did mine.

"If anything," Peeta continued, "they should be glad. _I_ am."

"…I'm not." I turned away. "You'd better leave before Cinna gets here."

He was beginning to sound upset. "Katniss—"

"Please, Peeta, just _leave._" With every second he stayed I was in more danger of crying, and I couldn't enter the arena with a puffy face. Despite this, I still needed to stick to the plan and show no emotion.

Though I tried to walk further away, he grabbed my shoulders again, forcing me to look at him.

"_Katniss,_" he repeated, almost urgently, holding our faces just inches apart. "You can't do this. We just had the most amazing night of our lives, we're going into the arena in less than three hours. Things can't end like this. We can't do this with these being our last words to each other."

I'd already begun shaking my head, making weak attempted to pull away from his touch but wanting nothing more than to bury myself inside of him again, to close myself tight against the world.

Peeta's eyes were impossibly blue, but something about his face was contorted into a morose, sick-like expression. "…If you want, we can pretend that…that last night never happened. If it makes you feel any better, w—"

"Don't be a martyr," I told him, feeling disgusted with myself. He thought I _wanted_ to forget?

'Then what do you want me to be?" He let go of me for a brief moment to run his fingers through his hair before cupping my face with both hands. "Tell me! A friend? A lover? Just another tribute? Just _tell me_, because…I'll be anything you want me to be. What do you want me to be?"

Silence.

I kept my head hanging.

Upset tears threatened to spill.

My stomach was lurching.

Everything about me wanted to deny him the memory of last night except for one part.

The part that called his name out in the first Games, the part that longed for him even after confessing that his love was unrequited, the part that really _wanted_ him. Peeta, everything he was and will be and how he held me and his hair in the morning and the laughter that warmed me from the inside out.

The part of me that really did love him, the one that won over everything else.

Shaking an emotionally raw, I opened my mouth to say something, but a brisk rapping on the door and a chirpy voice interrupted me.

"Up and at 'em, Katniss! It's going to be a big, big, big day!

Effie burst into the room, sporting her usual frightening outfit and attitude, but the second she stepped inside, even the overwhelming wave of bubbliness her presence brought in was immediately drained the moment when she saw me and Peeta.

She recovered from her shock fast. "Sorry, you two, there'll be more time for discussions in the arena! We're on a schedule."

Behind Effie, I could see Cinna and Portia standing, waiting for us.

There was a small pause.

I took Peeta's hands from my face, and before stepping away, our eyes locked. "Just you. That's what I want you to be." I told him and turned my back. "I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," he agreed quietly, and I stepped past Effie to my stylist.

**oOo**

_Sorry about the abysmal length to this chapter. I'm still adjusting with the idea of it all. So the next chapter or two might be choppy or confusing, too. Do forgive me. _

_Well, review if you'd like. I'll try and get the next chapter up soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay, so I've made a decision. Since there would only be little modification to the whole Quell, I'm going to skip a lot. It might seem lazy, but it would just bore you guys to tears. So I'm going to start off way, way, way late into the Quell. The team is Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Finnick and Beetee, and they're carrying out the plan to electrocute the beach. _

_Way late, I know, but this story isn't focusing on the Quell exactly. So go on. Read. _

_The beginning was taken straight from Catching Fire and changed to past-tense, so…_

**oOo**

At what Finnick and I judged to be about nine, we left our shell-strewn camp, crossed to the twelve o'clock beach, and began to quietly hike up to the lighting tree in the light of the moon. Our full stomachs made us more uncomfortable and breathless than we were on the morning's climb. I began to regret those last dozen oysters.

Beetee asked Finnick to assist him, and the rest of us stood guard. Before he even attached any wire to the tree, Beetee unrolled yards and yards of the stuff. He had Finnick secure it tightly around a broken branch and lay it on the ground. Then they stood on either side of the tree, passing the spool back and forth as they wrapped the wire around the trunk. At first it seemed arbitrary, then I saw a pattern, like an intricate maze, appearing in the moonlight on Beetee's side. I wondered if it made any difference how to wire was placed, or if that was merely to add to the speculation of the audience. I betted most of them knew as much about electricity as I did.

They worked on the trunk, which was completed just as we heard the wave begin. I'd never really worked out at what point in the ten o-clock hour it erupted. There must have been some buildup, then the wave itself, then the aftermath of the flooding. But the sky told me ten-thirty.

That was when Beetee revealed the rest of the plan. Since we moved most swiftly through the trees, he wanted Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we went. We were to lay it across the twelve o-clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever was left, deep into the water, making sure it sank. Then run for the jungle. If we went right then, we would make it to safety.

"I want to go with them as a guard," Peeta said immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I knew he was less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

"You're too slow," Beetee said, handing Johanna the coil. "Be—"

"I need to go," Peeta interrupted, putting on a face than only made Beetee's twist up in confusion. "You wouldn't understand. If I'm too slow, we'll leave right now and…and I'll be faster."

"It's okay," I told him, slightly aggravated. I actually agreed with Beetee. Though…how was I going to protect him so far away? What if the Careers decided to come up here instead of cross the beach? Shaking off the unease, I just turned my back on them, angling towards Johanna and the coil and the jungle ahead of us. "We'll just drop the coil and come back."

"I don't like it, Katniss." His eyebrows were slanted with a firm sort of tenacity that I'd so rarely seen on him. "Johanna can do it alone, can't she? If I'm too slow."

We all looked over at Johanna unsurely.

She cocked an arrogant hip and rolled her eyes. "Oh, I can do it, but if we're just going to stand around deciding, I'm off, because we're wasting time."

"Go on," Beetee said tiredly, sounding much like a fed up elderly neighbor, but his exasperation was for Peeta and me, not Johanna. "Not in the lightning zone," he reminded her. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

Without so much as a "goodbye," Johanna took the spool of the thread and disappeared jogging into the trees.

I fixed my eyes on the nearly-invisible, jerking line of wire leading away. Anger boiled in the pit of my stomach. Even when Peeta put one of his hands on my shoulder, I shrugged it off and paced in the opposite direction, picking at a piece of bark peeling.

"You can't pout, Katniss. We have our own jobs here." He gave up on trying for an embrace, and just turned away from me as well towards Beetee. "What do you need us to do?"

As we followed his instructions—I rather grudgingly because it required slight communication with Peeta—the sky grew darker and darker. I guessed it was about an hour until the lighting would hit, we started to get worried.

"Johanna should have returned by now…" Beetee said with worry, gazing out into the jungle where our fellow ally disappeared.

"Maybe she got tired and decided to take a nap," I mumbled to myself, but it did not go unnoticed.

The older man shot me a very sharp look. "You should be worried, Katniss. Your life may depend on the kind of job she does out there tonight."

"Well, if she's dead she's no use to us, is she?" I retorted, and then stomped off the opposite direction, crossing my arms and hugging my chest tightly.

Something about this felt wrong, but I didn't know what. Just a little while ago I was so hyped up with the idea of such a trap, but now unease was swirling in my gut. It was like a mixture of tasting something sinister in the air, my foul temper towards Peeta and the oysters churning in my gut. It made for a terrible combination.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to get Peeta home.

"Katniss,"

_Go away, Peeta. I don't want you right now._

"Katniss, I think we need to have a talk."

I'd been dreading this since I left him before leaving for the Launch Rooms. I knew there was an unfinished conversation between us, but not one I was looking forwards to have. My mind was so set on getting him home, I blocked out all of the other obstacles.

_If_ we kill the Careers before they kill us.

_If_ he doesn't kill himself or some other version of self-sacrifice.

Even if those things happened, there would be the sheer determination on his part that could stop just about everything I'd planned from happening. How was I going to pull this off anyway?

We'd acted as normal as possible the past few days. Like nothing was wrong, like nothing was bothering us. The kiss that seemed like years ago… It was something else, but no matter what he said, the locket around my neck changed nothing.

I was going to get Peeta Mellark out alive, whether he wants it or not.

It was hard not shrugging off his hand when he put it on my shoulder again.

Before he could speak, I cut off his words with my own, bitter ones. "If you're here to try and tell me off for being so rude or trying to convince me to let you kill yourself, you'd be better off going back to Beetee."

"…I'm not here to tell you off."

I turned to look at him. He was not able to hide things from me very well. Either that or he wasn't trying to hide it at all.

"Let's face it, Peeta." My voice sounded dry. Defeated. Though it must not be doing anything to gain interest from sponsors, I made no effort to cover the emotion scraping my throat. "It's pointless. Not persuading me, but…_this_." I gestured all around and to the both of us individually. "Pretending like nothing's wrong. Everything is wrong."

Peeta tightened his lips and let his eyes widen a fraction. His head gave an almost indiscernible shake, a warning to not go there. People were watching. The entire country.

I knew that. My gaze only faltered for a split second before sliding up to meet his own. "We're…loving as though we…could possibly be a…could possibly be a family. Intact." The words could not form. For the audience, I put one of my hands on my stomach. "…I don't want to raise our kid without you."

"You have no choice." Peeta curled his fingers gently around my wrists. "You still have a family to go back to, and you know that."

"But I don't want to go back unless you're coming with me," I replied angrily, but then sucked it in, feeling immediate guilt. Back home, did Prim think I really meant it? No, no I did want to get back home. But without Peeta I wouldn't be whole. Mother and Primrose would not be getting me back; I would be farther away than before.

Peeta touched the back of his hand to my face and I gratefully pressed my cheek against it, wanting so badly to feel the security and warmth that had long since seeped from me, even in this humid hell.

"We can't get all three of us out of here…" I whispered, doing my best not to show frailty but displaying it openly. "All or none, Peeta, let's just hope someone has the decency to kill _both_ of us. There are no nightlock berries here. We're on our own."

He wrapped his arms around me, tucking my head against his shoulder, lightly stroking the frizzy hair tangled over my shoulder in an acid-damaged braid. Lips pressed against my temple. "I understand, Katniss. Honestly. But you need to understand what I—"

"I _do_ understand, Peeta, that's what's eating at me." I pressed my fists against my eyes. "Because I know I'll never win. But that doesn't mean I won't try. I'll fight to the very end."

Silence.

Peeta did not answer, just held me tighter and kept running the tips of his fingers through my hair, sending pointless shivers of dread and longing and sorrow through my body.

"…I love you," he whispered against my neck, giving me a small kiss, but then pulled away. "Never forget it. No matter what happens. Okay?"

My head still hung, but I managed to nod it and let my hand slip away from Peeta's. "I lo—"

"_Peeta_! Katniss!"

Beetee came crashing through the woods noisily behind us and we whipped around.

He came panting to a stop and pushed up his glasses with a finger. "We've got a problem."

"What?" I grabbed hold of Peeta's hand again, thankful for his grip, and we followed the other tribute hastily through the woods back to the lightning tree. "What's wrong, Beetee? Is Johanna back?"

Then I heard a faint, shrill scream that answered my question for him.

It was coming in the direction of the wedge that Johanna disappeared to.

"Should we—?"

"Go," Beetee shoved our backs and we began stumbling through the woods, tripping on vines and overgrown bushes and spongy moss. Finnick ran next to us, face stiff with anxiety as well, though he said nothing.

Why was I feeling so afraid? It's not like Johanna meant anything to me. She was a nuisance, at best. But something wrong with Johanna meant something wrong with our plan, which just meant one less way to get Peeta out alive, so I had no choice but to go along with it.

"What about the tree?" Peeta asked while we ran. "Should Finnick stay behind?"

Beetee, who was in much worse shape and older than us two, was having some issue breathing, and had to take several scraping breaths before answering, "No. If Johanna is in serious trouble, you can't fight, neither can Katniss, and I'm too old for hand-to-hand combat. We'll need someone to get in there and pull her out. And besides, if the wire was cut on the other end, it doesn't matter what happens at the tree."

We ran for another few minutes before we were halted so abruptly, Peeta stumbled right into me and all three of us fell onto our knees, trying to slow our heavy breathing.

We were in the wedge next to the dampened one, where the trap was supposed to take place. The beach was around fifty feet away, which was dangerously close, and we saw the people. Only three of them, but we knew who they were. Johanna was laying on the sand, writhing, a terrible noise and dark liquid coming out of her. Brutus and Enobaria stood over her squirming body. Brutus gripped a spear, and even from that far away, I could see the stain on the shaft.

My stomach churned even more, and I clapped one of my hands over my mouth.

_That noise_…

I couldn't see the wire, but that was no surprise. It was so thin; it would be just about impossible finding it. Only Johanna knew what happened to it. If we were lucky, Enobaria and Brutus didn't, but luck hadn't been working out for us. Seeing Johanna there like that, she looked young and vulnerable, so wounded and small and it such horrible pain I could almost feel it myself. For a moment, I forgot how much I hated her.

I grabbed Peeta's sleeve and tried running towards them. "We need to h—"

"No!" Beetee hissed, grabbing my sleeve and yanking me back. "It's nearly midnight, and the ground is still damp."

"But you said—!"

"Forget what I said, it's too dangerous." He let go of me and began pacing.

Finnick, who was flattened behind the bush that Peeta and I was hiding behind, shook his head and snorted with irritation. "I could take care of it, Beetee, we need her alive. That was the d—"

A sharp glare at him from Beetee, he fell silent.

"I could go," Finnick repeated.

"We only have a matter of minutes," said the older tribute, resuming his pacing. "If we were smart, we'd leave them now."

"I don't leave people to die." Gripping his trident in one hand, Finnick stood and looked down at the rest of us. "I'll be fast." And before any of us could object again, he took off in their direction.

I shrank next to Peeta, watching with wide eyes as the two Careers saw their enemy running towards them. Everything was beginning to film in slow motion. Both began sprinting in Finnick's direction, but Enobaria tripped over one of Johanna's jerking legs. Without even turning back to check on his District partner, Brutus kept going, holding his spear up.

The second it flew my mouth opened in a silent cry, but—

It missed.

Finnick hurtled towards the ground, and Brutus tripped over _him_. The spear caught his shoulder on the way down and with a bellow of pain he landed. At first, I was impressed by my allies' evasive maneuver when I realized he hadn't fallen on purpose.

It looked kind of like hair wrapping around his feet, glinting almost invisibly in the light of the rising moon.

"Wire," Beetee whispered, and suddenly took off towards the group. But the second he approached Finnick and began trying to untangle the wire was the second I heard it.

Well, felt more like. A charge in the air, a coppery taste upon my tongue.

Lightning.

Peeta was suddenly throwing his arms around me from behind, snatching me and dragging me backwards. I tried pulling on his grip but it was no use. All I could do was squeeze my eyes closed as the crack of the lightning hit the tree and everything lit up like a spotlight had been turned on.

Though I'd been dragged far enough into the woods to not be able to see the actual beach any more, I saw the light. It was like a fuse, lighting up a brilliant golden first at the giant tree, blocking out the stars, and then shooting down the path of the wire.

And then it hit the beach.

Peeta pushed me onto the ground and covered my body with his as the world cried out. Water shot upwards in a stream, webbed by thin white fingers, the beach glowing and an almost inaudible—yet ear-splitting—crackling of electricity destroying, _destroying. _

My ears felt like they were going to explode, I heard tributes—Finnick, Beetee, Brutus, Enobaria, Johanna—shrieking as every electron in their bodies were ripped apart.

I wasn't aware of my own screams until the lightning stopped and wire finally burnt up and the glow of yellow from the electricity died.

_Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom._

The cannon waited for no one.

My entire body was frozen. I refused to open my eyes or make an attempt to sit up.

Peeta had rolled off of me but had not got up, either. He still gripped the back of my shirt in one hand.

I didn't know how long we stayed there like that, but he was the first to move.

He gingerly got his arms underneath him and sat up, turning over to my own, motionless body.

"…Katniss?" he whispered, touching my shoulder.

When I remained like that, his fingers snuck around to my neck, felt the pulse, and realizing I was alive, brushed back my hair. His fingers were still trembling. "It's over. You can get up."

I did not.

He pulled me onto his lap and rocked me until I got enough energy to open my eyes and loosen my clenched fingers.

_Five_… I mouthed, staring off with impossibly wide, frightened eyes into the distance, back arched and quivering.

"What?" Peeta asked in a soft voice, still stroking my hair.

"Five." My gaze shifted over to stare into his worried blue eyes. "All dead. Only Chaff left."

Poor Haymitch. The only people in the world that he might care about left to kill each other in the last of what has been a very intense Quell.

That means I have to kill Chaff.

And then myself. That shouldn't be too hard.

I stood up—with difficulty, mind you—and after only a second of steadying myself on a nearby tree, took a step in the other direction.

"Oh, no, you don't."

Peeta stood quicker than I and grabbed onto my wrist.

Behind him, I saw the hovercraft picking up the remnants of what had once been our friends. A blob of grey hair matted with blood, glasses askew…curls bronze hair no longer beautiful and a once perfect body rigid with death…

I yanked my hand away and kept walking, feeling my face heat with sudden anger.

He grabbed me again. "Katniss, I know what you're planning. And it won't work."

"Who says?" I hissed, whipping around and facing him. My body was shaky, my heart feeling like a raw slab of meat, my mind so fuzzy and warped with what I only assumed to be grief. "Who says it won't work? I'm not letting him win."

"And I'm not letting you kill yourself," Peeta growled.

"It's not up to _you_."

"Katniss Everdeen," He pulled me closer to him, leaving our faces mere inches apart. His eyes reflected pain, his mouth was in a tight, serious line. "You are my first—and only—love, you're my best friend, my partner."

His expression kept me silent.

"My confident, someone to hold at night, the face that lives in all of my dreams. You're my everything. If you think whether it's not up to me—whether you live or die—then you're wrong." Though no wetness glistened in his eyes, I could see my reflection in them just as clearly.

He was tearing himself up. Never mind the cameras, this was the truth. And the whole country was hearing it, but I didn't care, and neither did he.

"Let me make this clear," he said, and then bent down further, so where our lips were half an inch apart. "I. Cannot. Live. Without. You."

My own eyes were starting to tingle with the threat of oncoming tears. Though my lower lip had begun to tremble, I swallowed and said, "But I can't live without you, either, Peeta. I don't want to win this if it means living without you."

For once in his life, Peeta was unable to form words. His mouth opened several times to say something, but nothing came out except for little puffs of air that I felt on my own lips.

Finally, I couldn't take it and pulled him down to kiss me. It tasted salty, of fear and pain and love and I couldn't fight what I felt anymore. There was no hiding or pretending or trying to warp it for other's pleasure. No denying, I was in love with Peeta Mellark.

And it was killing me.

**oOo**

_Terrible, terrible._

_But anyways, I'm sort of getting a handle on this. Everything is starting to work itself out. You'll like where I'm going with this, I promise! _


	4. Chapter 4

Peeta and I made sure to stay in the safer sections of the arena, being somewhat—dare I say it?—careless with ourselves. With most of the threat gone, we had little energy to keep hiding. We walked along the force field, holding hands, eating cubes of tree rat, not talking, but not taking any sort of cover. After the short "discussion" we had when those five tributes died, there had been very little chatter. All was quiet with the Gamemakers, too. Almost _too_ quiet. Maybe they were waiting to see how we'd deal with the situation.

When we stopped to rest, I stretched out over a particularly nice bed of moss. It wasn't long before Peeta broke the silence.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked, moving a bit of hair away from my forehead. He meant with the death of my allies.

When I opened my eyes in a questioning glance, he cleared his throat and nodded his head towards my stomach. With his expression, it must have been very convincing to the audience.

"Mm…" I tried giving him an adoring smile. "I'm doing quite acceptable, thank you. No change, really."

Peeta held his hand above my stomach. "May I?"

Odd. He never felt the need to ask before. Frowning, I nodded my head, but immediately realized why he asked permission.

His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt and slid along the plane of my bare stomach.

It tickled, and a memory rushed unexpectedly into my head.

That night. _Our_ night. It made me sad thinking that we most likely won't ever do that again.

I forced it out of my head and forced a more important thought _in_. Chaff.

"Peeta," I said, wrapping both my hands around his. "This period of calm won't last forever. We need to have some sort of plan, not just traipse around in the jungle as if we weren't constantly on the brink of death."

He blinked at me. "…I have a plan."

"Does it include suicide or some other revolting form of selflessness?"

He didn't answer.

"Because that won't work out for me." I sat up, taking his hand away from my stomach onto my lap. "You know that."

"We have no choice." Peeta just sighed, as if my words were only annoying. "There is no point in arguing."

"Look, I know what you're thinking. I understand how the Games work, Peeta. But here's the thing: I either live _with_ you, or not at all."

Rolling his eyes, Peeta let go of my hands and stood. "Stubborn girl…"

"I'm not the stubborn one."

The conversation was over.

Frustrated, I stood as well and shifted my bow on my shoulder. "We should make camp soon so we could get a few hours of sleep before starting up early in the morning again."

"Don't be angry at me." Like before, Peeta walked next to me as we hiked, fingers twined just for the sake of not losing one another. "I just want the best for you." Pause. "And our baby."

Pout. Don't answer.

"You said yourself you understand."

Still pouting.

"Your mother and Prim aren't the only ones who need you out of this arena. Th—"

"Peeta, just shut your mouth. It's two against one so I say shut up." I pulled my hand away and abruptly sat down, crossing my arms. "And we're making camp here."

Not even looking at him, I turned around, yanking a knife from my belt and began tapping into a tree.

All the meanwhile, I wondered where Chaff was. He knows he's in the last three, and one can easily assume that Peeta and I are the ones left. Was he hunting us? Has he switched to offense? Would it matter that Haymitch is a common friend for all three of us?

Water inside the tree began sputtering out of the spile, and I drank my fill, keeping my back to Peeta. And thankfully, he didn't demand my attention right off the bat.

I effectively ignored him, sitting in a hunched ball, watching the forest around us as the sun slipped further towards the horizon. The silence and time alone only lasted for a few minutes before I felt something small hit the side of my head.

Letting out a snort of surprise and bother, I snapped my head around.

Peeta threw another nut that hit my forehead.

"Stoppit," I hissed at him, batting it away and glaring furiously.

He did not look like he was doing it just to make me annoyed. The expression on his face was more like his "I'm-trying-to-make-you-smile-but-it-isn't-working-because-I'm-pissed-at-you" expression, a little cocky and impatient but his intentions may or may not have been acceptable.

"You know, this very well may be our last day together. Ever." Peeta popped a nut into his mouth and set the rest of them on the moss. "The least you could do is look me into the face and _say_ you're upset."

That's what I did. Glaring right into his blue—and undeniably gorgeous—eyes, and said, "I'm upset at you. There."

He didn't look at all pleased.

"Things would have been easier if I would have just died in the first Games." I wrapped my arms around my knees and put my chin on top of them grouchily. "It would have saved a lot of hassle."

"Not for your mother or Pr—"

"Would you stop mentioning them?" I snapped, shooting yet another glare in his direction. "It's hard enough being away from them, knowing I most likely won't survive to see the end of the week. You rubbing it in my face just makes it worse. I _know_ they're waiting for me."

Dusk was settling in, turning the sky a shade of violet. It made the jungle seem less menacing, somehow, as though turning everything purple fixes all the problems. Soon—maybe in an hour or so—they'll display the day's death toll.

Feeling a lump in my throat, I turned my gaze away from the sky and leaned against a tree. "…I wonder what Haymitch thinks about this."

"…What do you mean?" Peeta, hopeful of my abrupt change in attitude, crawled hesitantly over to me and sat at my side.

"Chaff was the closest thing to a friend he had." I shrugged. "With him _and_ us in the arena… No matter how this plays out, he's going to lose someone he might care about, and soon."

Peeta made a noise of indifference, shaking his head. "He'll probably just drown it out with liquor, as always."

"Don't talk about him like that." It felt highly offensive for some reason. "We own him our lives. And we may never see him again." With that in mind, my mood plummeted just a little bit more, and I felt my shoulders sag a great deal as I hid the grief by covering my face.

Instinctively, it seemed, Peeta wrapped an arm around me and rested his forehead on my own. "…We'll have to thank him after this is done."

It was hard not laughing bitterly at his statement. "Right. Keep that in mind for me."

He ignored the meaning behind that and glanced up at the stars, which we just starting to come out. "…I owe you one, Haymitch," he said quietly. "Thank you for keeping her alive."

Nothing answered but the sultry rustle of the jungle as it settled in for the night.

Just then was one of those times I felt so small and inadequate and _heartless_ compared to Peeta. Peeta, who knew what being the last meant, but who still found the time to thank our drunk old mentor for keeping not him, but _me_ alive. It's almost like I have no right to live with such a selfless person as a partner.

Surely Haymitch understood that, hence his silence up there. If I'd expected any sort of recognition—a parachute, _anything_—I was disappointed, but that was okay.

After a moment, Peeta lowered his head and sigh out a sigh that sounded very concluding, taking his arms from around me. "You should get some. I'll take the first watch."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep," I told him truthfully, not even trying. "And I want to see the display tonight. It should be rather spectacular with so many deaths."

I took his not answering as an agreement.

When the anthem began to play, I was not ready to see the faces of my friends up in the sky. First there was Brutus and Enobaria from District 2, and then Finnick. I felt my chest tug a little at the loss. I admit I considered him a friend. I owed him for the countless times he saved mine and Peeta's lives. And I confess he wasn't terrible company.

After Finnick was Beetee, with the wrinkles of laughter around his face and glasses that always seemed to be crooked and that kind of wise-man look that you always expect from your elders.

Once Johanna left the sky and the anthem began playing again, I reached up and felt something cold on my cheek. _At least it was dark_, I thought bitterly to myself as I scrubbed the single tear away. There's no use for crying over dead friends. You had to accept it and move on.

"It's alright, Peeta, I can take the first watch," I said, clearing my throat and making myself comfortable against a tree. No use being angry at him still, either. I had enough anger inside of me, and it wouldn't help me keep him alive.

He eyed me with worry. "Are you sure?"

When I nodded, Peeta slid carefully onto his back and settled down on the moss next to me. I let him rest his head on my lap, and for a minute I thought that was all that was going to happen.

Then I opened my mouth and began whispering the words of a lullaby I hadn't heard in a long time. I used to hear my father sing it to my mother back before he died. When I remembered it there on the jungle floor, it occurred to me how alike it was to mine and Peeta's situation.

"_Beyond the path to follow,_

"_Under the moonlit trees,"_

Peeta opened his eyes to look up at me, but I continued.

"_From the cares _

"_Forced on by the morrow._

"_We weave a hammock_

"_And watch the stars."_

Subconsciously, my fingers were tracing along his forehead, sweeping back the same bit of hair over and over again until it was just to touch him. I could feel the flutter of his heartbeat through my touch.

"Don't stop," he murmured, closing his eyes again, and I obeyed.

"_Though lost, our bodies,_

"_Our hearts are free,_

"_So this woods belongs to_

"_Just you_

"_And_

"_Just me."_

Right then I most definitely had the world's eyes on me, no doubt about it. Caring was past me, so I let myself further into the song, still stroking Peeta's face. Never mind the cameras, never mind the lies previously told. This was ours.

"_It feels like when we wake,_

"_The morning claps its hands to make us rise._

"_We're anxious of the day,_

"_But only for our sakes,_

"_We close our eyes_

"_And hold on tight._

"_Though bloody, our bodies,_

"_Our hearts are true._

"_So this moment belongs to_

"_Just me,_

"_And,_

"_Just you."_

The moment of quiet lasting after I stopped was _too_ quiet. I sat, staring off into the dark. Peeta was asleep—or just pretending to be—so I knew my time for peace was over and I switched back to the fighting-Katniss mode. The one who has to watch out for Chaff and keep us safe.

Making sure my bow and arrows were ready at any second, I settled down to wait out the darkest part of the night, which was most likely our _last_ night together. _But only for our sakes, we close our eyes and hold on tight_.

And hold on we did.


	5. Chapter 5

_A song that ALL of you need to hear is "Let it Go" by Blue October. It is the most brilliant song. Not fast, not screamo, not too slow, no high-pitched gay man voice…but the perfect amount of beauty. You must listen._

**oOo**

"Could you tap into a tree for me?" I asked, ripping the skin off of a tree rat.

Peeta, who was sitting a few feet away, shelling nuts, looked up and agreed. While wedging the blade of his knife into a tree, he asked, "So what's the schedule for the day? Hunting down Chaff?"

"He'll probably find us first, but I'm tired of waiting around." I cut chunks of meat from the rat and piled it on the hide. "So I guess we have no choice."

We worked for a while more making a good meal to eat on the way. Knowing it was probably our last day together, neither of us felt the need to hold restrictions. We kept our fingers twined, kissed, and stopped at regular intervals just to hold one another. It didn't feel faked or forced at all. I _wanted_ it.

Maybe it was just me, but it seemed as though Peeta knew that. He didn't mention the future except for immediate with Chaff, and even then kept it down so where I had no reason to get directly upset. No talk about sacrifice or anything to cause a fight. He wanted peace on our last day just as much as I did, and gladly basked in my affection.

"Peeta," I said out of the blue. We both slowed to a halt and he tightened his grip on me as a sign of paying attention. "We should get out onto the beach. There's no way we would find him in a single day in the middle of the jungle like this."

After a second of just looking at the ground with furrowed brows, Peeta nodded, but didn't make any move towards letting me go or moving forwards. His other arm went around my waist and I felt him put his mouth near one of my ears.

"Whatever happens today, Katniss, j—"

"Let's not talk about that right now." I put both hands on his chest. "Please. Let's find Chaff and then if he doesn't manage to kill one of us, _then_ we'll discuss things."

"I don't want to wait until it's too late to tell you I love you." Peeta breathed lightly on my hair, closing his eyes and drawing me closer until I could feel his heart beating in my own throat. "And that the past year has been the best year of my life."

"Despite both of the Games? Despite everything?" Instant guilt swelled my throat closed because I didn't feel the same way. Though I didn't know what I would consider the best years of my life, the past was not one of them.

For Peeta, however, it was different. He pressed his lips to my temple. "Despite everything. Because I've had you. There never really was a reason trying to…_thrive_ before. And now that you've given me that gift of knowing how it feels to be alive, I owe you everything I could possibly offer."

We both knew what he meant.

The lump in my throat just continued to grow. "…No. Not your life, Peeta. Never your life."

"Always my life." He drew back and took a breath. "It belongs to you. Now let's get to the beach before something bad happens."

Yeah. Heaven forbid anything bad happen.

The only thing I felt was unhappiness as we made our way downhill to the center of the arena. It was impossible to stay angry at him when I know how determined he was and how much he loved me. I knew how far you'd go for someone you love. Nothing I could say was going to change his mind, but to be honest, mine was changing.

I didn't want to die. I didn't want to kill myself. Every time I imagine what would happen afterwards my heart breaks a little more. He'd be so sad…a completely different person. He wouldn't be Peeta anymore. I only say this because I feel the same way if the circumstance was reversed. We both knew how either of the situations would play out, and neither would work.

My brain automatically blocked out trying to think of what would happen if—or when—we became the only two left. We'd probably skip around until the Gamemakers decide to kill one of us.

I imagined a giant wave engulfing the entire arena and we'd have to swim to safety. Peeta couldn't swim, so I'd make sure he was safe before helping myself, but since I was such a good swimmer and intent on keeping him alive, we'd probably both survive.

Next in my line of thought was if a swarm of millions of tracker jackers got released. What a gruesome death, but there was water to hide in, so the Gamemakers wouldn't be that dumb to release such an easily evaded mutt.

No avalanche to startle, no volcano to erupt… But they'd have to kill one of us somehow. Every other situation that came to my mind as we walked was counterattacked by my own defensive thoughts. Working together, with both of our skills combined, there was little we couldn't handle.

So how will they do it?

"What's that expression for?" Peeta asked quietly, peeking at me sideways.

I only realized how scrunched up my face was when I relaxed and noticed my eyebrow muscles were sore.

"Nothing," I said, turning away so he couldn't see the lie in my eyes.

Thankfully, he didn't press it. There were too many things going wrong for him to get a straight answer anyways.

We made it to the beach with good timing. Peeta and I had only been cruising down the shore for about fifteen minutes before the shark cracking of lightning shot down and hit the twelve-o'clock tree opposite the one all of our friends died at.

"Noon." Peeta cast his gaze out over the saltwater lake. "I wonder where Chaff is."

"Probably crashing through the woods somewhere wearing tribal face paint, carrying a spear with our names on it." It made for a terrible mental image.

"He's not a particularly violent person," Peeta noted. "He's probably hoping what we are: that we'll kill him before he has to kill us."

I let out a bitter laugh and stopped to stretch and cram my spile into a tree. "What an unfortunate impasse we seem to be at."

We rested for a while more. My eyes lazily followed a bloodred ant the size of my thumbnail as it made its way up a tree. The sun hung very bright at the top of the sky, and I forced my gaze away from the bug, something dawning on me.

"Is it just me or was the noon tree too close for comfort?" I pointed out to where the lightning sounded. "Normally we don't even heard the lightning but it was just…right there."

Peeta put on a face. At first it was curious, but as he came to realized the truth to my words, they grew concerned. "…It's not just you." He shook his head, and after taking a drink from the spile's stream, looked again out over the water. "We should head back up before we get caught in a triggered sector. It's been too still lately—we don't want to take chances."

It was impossible not to agree with him.

We'd only began walking back when a near-silent stream of cusses broke through the silence behind us. Peeta and I immediately spun around, shrinking towards the trees.

It was a long ways away, nearly exactly the spot where the lightning hit. A miniscule speck came hurtling out of the jungle, swatting himself and shrieking profanities. He must have been cursing really loudly for us to have heard him.

Only when I was within seeing-distance from him I realized how truly scared I was of the end. Without even waiting for Peeta to agree, I grabbed Peeta's wrist and yanked him into the covers of the trees, stumbling as far away from Chaff as we could. In fact, I only stopped when the shimmering glint of the force field ahead of us I slowed to a stop.

"Katniss," Peeta huffed, putting his hands on his knees. "It isn't safe. We _really_ need to get out of this sector."

I was taking deep breaths, bracing my back against a tree, elbows cupped in trembling fingers. "I know… It's just…" I let out a slow breath between my teeth. "I know."

"Come on." He offered his hand down to me, and I took it, but not before one of those strange ants caught my eye again. In fact, there were quite a few, under leaves and in between cracks of bark. I didn't remember seeing them before, but that was easily shifted from my mind.

"I wonder what Chaff's problem was …"

For some reason, I couldn't find it in me to pay attention much. His words flowed over the top of my head and instead I focused on something itching inside of my boot.

"He looked as though he had ants in his pants." Peeta tried a weak laugh, but something about that snapped me back into attention.

"Ants?" I stopped walking.

The itching in my boots was growing worse. Now the smaller things I'd seen were growing more obvious. Tree trunks around us seemed to pulse with tiny bugs.

The ants.

Something sharp bit into the side of my foot and I let out a surprised yelp, reaching down to clamp my hand over the sting. There was another one.

"Ow. Peeta—" I started to look up at him, but something _else_ stung and I hissed in pain, scrambling to get my shoes off.

An ant crawled out of my boot. And another one.

Ten crawled in.

The ground was writhing with giant red ants, all scrambling over the heads of one another to get to their targets—me and Peeta.

Just as Peeta started letting out little cries as the creatures found him as well, I grabbed his hand and stumbled forwards, wanting to get away from the threat that was everywhere. With every step I felt them fill my boots, tickling into my socks.

Peeta was right behind me—we kept running into each other, hissing and spitting like a bunch of wet cats.

At first it was more annoying than painful, but I found myself running at full-speed to nowhere in particular, swatting at my legs and trying to shake away the bugs. It grew painful, like running with shoes full of needles. They bit and dug into my skin and made me howl with pain.

I don't know if I was just imagining it, but the jungle floor was _moving_. There were no leaves or moss or twisting vines. It was all alive with crawling, biting ants that were looking to bury under your skin and set it ablaze. Soon, I realized that the bites did not just bring on pain.

My feet were swelling. I could no longer feel them, as though whatever poison the ant's saliva held was like anesthetic. I tripped more often, tried to get my legs to stand firm under me but they refused. Every time I touched the ground ants crawled up my hands, my knees.

They made their way up my legs.

My vision was getting blurry and the only things keeping me upright were the trees, which I grabbed onto and hauled myself across the jungle.

The bugs had crawled into my clothes and were biting inside my undershirt and in places that they were certainly not supposed to be. I was far beyond shrieking; now a low moan burbled from my throat. It was blind how I carried myself. It felt as though the ants had eaten away many layers of skin, like I was massaged with a cheese grater.

I didn't even know if Peeta was next to me anymore. Everything inside of me seemed to have turned to bugs, writhing and skittering and squirming.

My legs finally gave way for the last time and I crashed to the ground, barely conscious, and let my eyes glaze over, finally out cold.

What felt like years later, my eyes peeled open and—keeping my body frozen still—I looked around. The sky was a darker azure—maybe around 9:00 at night?—and the jungle leaves rattled with a calm, warm breeze. Upon not-so-close inspection, I saw that the trees were as motionless as they'd been this morning. No bugs.

We'd been out a long time…

Smacking my dry lips, I tested my arms to see if they were strong enough to push me into a sitting position. When they were and I did, I saw Peeta laying face-down next to me. His face was pale and his lips were chapped, not good signs.

I was too afraid to look at my legs yet—which were throbbing dreadfully because of the material of my jumpsuit touching the wounds, so I did my best to stay upright and fumble with a woven basket that was strapped to Peeta's belt. It was difficult, but I tapped into a tree in a sitting-position, filled the basket full of water, and dragged myself over to him.

"Peeta," I said through a hoarse throat. "Peeta."

When he still didn't answer, I put my hand on his cheek and bent painfully over to kiss him awake.

Of course, his eyes opened immediately and in an equally scratchy voice, he said, "Hey."

"It's over." I put the bowl to his lips and made him drink. "Are you okay?"

Peeta blinked and forced himself into a sitting position next to me, wincing. "I'm alive. How about you? They seemed to like how you tasted better than me."

It was hard, but I swallowed bile and stretched my legs out in front of me to take a look.

From the outside, my jumpsuit and boots looked the same. The material of the legs, however, chafed so painfully against the bites, I didn't bother saving it at all and just sheared it off from the knee down on both legs. And when my boots and socks were off, I saw just how disgusting it was.

Pricks the size of pen tips were scattered along my entire leg, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, clustered like red stars. Drips of blood were dried on the skin, criss-crossing like some gruesome map. They burned like fire and itched, and I could still see the desiccated, withered bodies of ants that still had their heads buried in my flesh.

"It doesn't look so bad," I said in a shaky voice, and tried bending them. They no longer felt so nerve-dead and swollen, but still stung insanely. When I pulled myself standing and tested my weight on them, I didn't collapse. "See? I'm fine."

Peeta did not look convinced. I helped him cut away his clothes from the knee-down and stand with me, but he tried switching his look from in pain to incredibly worried. A second later, I realized. Until Peeta mentioned it, I had forgotten all about my nonexistent child.

"Are you _really_ okay?" He put one of his hands gently on my abdomen, and it helped with steadying a little. "Did you land on your stomach?"

Playing along, I put my hands over his and glanced down contemplatively. "…No, I don't think so. He's holding on just fine."

"'He'?"

I felt a rush of pinkness to my cheeks and I dropped my gaze, embarrassed for no reason. "Never mind. We should try and make it to the beach before nightfall."

"That's probably not a good idea," Peeta said, looking at me sternly. "You need to rest. Especially in your condition, after what happened."

I wanted to argue with him, but my only argument was not to be used in front of the Capitol, since they do not know that I'm not _actually_ pregnant. And he knows that.

"It's not even dusk…" I tried one last time. "We get several hours of—"

"—of sleep, you're right." With a grunt of effort, he lowered himself back down and touched one of his fingers to a particularly nasty wound where it looked like the ant had actually buried itself under his skin. They were all dead, thankfully, but it was still gross. "And I'd like to see what we can do with these bites."

Personally, I knew that those Satan-ants were probably the least worrisome of the sectors. We got out lucky. But neither of us had barely anything to eat that day, and it was getting to be a highly dangerous time. Chaff was near, and the ant-episode did not seem nearly entertaining enough to quench the Capitol citizen's thirty for gore.

Letting out a snort of annoyance, I ripped down a large cluster of nuts, sat down next to Peeta, and scowled.

"It'll be over soon, Katniss, don't worry." He seemed unaffected by my mood, and pulled me in for a short kiss. "Just hold on for a little longer."

Yeah. Just a little longer so Chaff could kill me. Or mutts. Or myself.

When I didn't answer for a long time, Peeta cleared his throat. "Do you still have that cream we got for the fog blisters?"

Wordlessly. I pulled the jar out and gave it to him. There was little left, but enough for both of our legs. When I declined it, Peeta himself took the liberty in smearing it where my wounds were. It helped with the itching, but not the needle-like pain.

"Get some sleep," Peeta told me. "You'll feel better in the morning."

I seriously doubted that, but at any rate, slid the quiver from my back and stretched out with my head on his lap.

"Wake me if anything happens…"

Peeta greed and, twining our fingers together, let me drift into an uneasy, aching slumber.

I woke Peeta up with the sun was just turning the sky pink with rising. After resting our bodies for the night, most of our energy had returned—enough to take some time off and hunt. There was no point in worrying about Chaff finding us, so we made a nice fire and cooked an odd flightless bird I shot coming out of its burrow. The meat was tangy, maybe a little bitter, but made a decent meal as we walked the jungle (opposed to the beach).

"How are your feet doing?" Peeta asked me, picking at something between his teeth as we went.

We'd chosen to take off our boots and socks—stringing them to our belts—to travel barefoot on the moss, which felt relieving to our scabbing legs. Though the discomfort was still there, being able to walk at all was a feat.

"They're healing," I answered, digging my toes into the cushiony earth momentarily. "I have a feeling it could have been a lot worse."

"O can still sense the ants crawling around inside of my socks." Shivering, he ducked to avoid a branch, and continued. "What I could really use is a good, hot bath right now. I feel like a wild anima out here."

It was hard not smiling. "You look like it, too." Teasing, I ran my fingers through his tangled, dirty hair. "What _I_ could use most is a good meal and a soft feathered bed to sleep on."

Actually, there were a lot more important things I had in mind, but that seemed like the most innocent. And when I felt Peeta's arm squeeze around my waist, a mixture of emotion collided in my head.

He was thinking what I was thinking (unintentionally). Those nights on the train, huddled under the blankets together, trying to ward of the inevitable nightmares. And, of course, _that night_. Could that only have been so many days ago? How long _had_ it been? Two weeks? I'd lost count, but the memory stayed fresh in my mind. So fresh it hurt.

I slipped from Peeta's arm and strode ahead of him a few paces, working to keep my face emotionless.

A minute later, after staying in a confused silence, Peeta spoke up. "Katniss," he said, "maybe we sh—AH!"

Abrupt cracking sounds, a swish of air and an alarmed yelp from Peeta was all it took to send me whirling around, already reaching for an arrow.

He was dangling only three feet off the ground by a rope caught around one of his feet. Before he could even struggle, I tugged the knife from my belt and sliced through the cord like it was butter.

"That has to be the lamest snare I've ever seen," I couldn't help remarking before kneeling down next to Peeta, who'd fallen to the ground with a groan. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He frowned, prodding the spot on his foot where it's got snagged. "…I'm fine."

I began helping him up. "Good, bec—"

"Shh!" Something flashed across his face—a look of panic. "Do you hear that?"

My body automatically tensed up to his frightened tone of voice and I listened…

There it was. A quiet sort of clicking noise, like something mechanic grinding to life.

"Gears," Peeta whispered.

That couldn't be good.

I grabbed his wrist, about to stand up. "…Chaff?" I asked stupidly, more curious at the possibility of it being caused by him, because right then the Capitol was sounding a whole lot more menacing than a experienced killer after us.

A low, deadly growl answered from the jungle next to us.

It wasn't Chaff.

**oOo**

_UGH. That was a terrible chapter. I do apologize._

_But anyways, the next one will be better. More exciting. Happy week, and please review if you'd like!_


	6. Chapter 6

My first instinct was, of course, to run.

I grabbed Peeta's hand and took off before anything could be said. Oddly, the growling grew distant the farther away we got. I'd hoped that whatever had growled wasn't after _us_, but then I nearly scoffed to myself. All sorts of terrible scenarios came to mind and I just clutched Peeta's hand even harder.

"To the beach!" he yelled over the pounding of our hearts and feet crashing through the branches around us.

Thoguh it was unlikely the open area would protect us any more, I agreed and we veered away from the force field.

By the time Peeta and I stumbled onto the sand, we could no longer hear the animal sounds.

"Do you think…" Peeta huffed, bending over to catching his breath, "…we're out of the sector?"

My gaze floated out over the rest of the visible arena. Something several sectors away caught my eye. And again, that same minute something was another few sectors in the other direction.

Fear dropped my heart like a stone, and a noise on the tree line 50 feet behind us stopped me short. Clammy hands still gripped together, Peeta and I slowly turned around.

It was like no mutt I'd ever seen.

Maybe about six feet long, skinny greenish body made out of miniscule overlapping scales. At first glance it had the body of a—lion? I'd never seen one before except in old books and magazines, but that was how I could describe it. Minus the details.

Green filmy skin stretched between available joints, fluttering together in a web down its neck in a grotesque sort of mane. Eyes the color of night had a second eyelid filmed over the irises, and it stood as still as a statue.

My entire body was frozen with terror.

It wasn't particularly _big_. The flipperlike feet didn't seem to let it run very fast. Maybe…

I flicked my eyes briefly over to Peeta. He seemed rigid as well. Even if it didn't look particularly nasty, if it was in the arena, it only had one purpose: kill. And at that point, I had a feeling it wouldn't let the both of us live.

Peeta's lips were movie, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.

"What?" I breathed, trying not to move too much or create too much noise that the strange green mutt could hear.

"The cornucopia," he answered, barely audible, and I knew what he was saying. His legs were tensed, getting ready to run.

"No." My voice was too loud.

The mutt lifted its head a little and flicked its lizard tail.

"The cornucopia."

"No!"

Peeta took off. HE yanked his hand from mine and dove clumsily into the water, starting to swim.

My heart was crammed into my throat with fear and I could hardly breathe, battling between following Peeta and possibly getting chased or staying to see what happened.

The mutt (who surprisingly didn't chase after Peeta) licked its chops. Another just like it appeared next to him.

I fled.

Careening backwards as fast as possible, I rocketed through the water, arms stretched ahead of me. Within seconds I passed Peeta, grabbed onto him and paddled faster.

Something roared behind us, a bone-rattling roar, and through the splashing liquid in our ears I heard a hoarse scream at the beach a ways away. Sounds of crashing through the jungle, big cats snarling and the chase was afoot.

_Let the Games begin_, I thought, and tried not to black out from fear.

Peeta was a slow swimmer, but I hoped that Chaff would hold the mutts off long enough so Peeta and I could get to the cornucopia.

Water stung in my eyes and nose. My legs screamed in protest to the frantic kicking, but I kept going, hauling Peeta through the saltwater, getting closer and closer to the island.

Thirty feet. Twenty. Fifteen.

I had no idea where the mutts were, if they were right behind us or still on the beach eating Chaff or what, but all I could do was _swim_.

We got to the island and dragged ourselves up onto it, panting and trembling and choking water from our lungs.

Peeta stood first, coughing, but when I looked up at him he, eyes out on the beach we left behind.

"Oh my god…"

I turned to glance behind me and my insides turned to coal.

"Get up! _GO_!" I found myself screaming, standing up and shoving Peeta towards the cornucopia, stumbling and shouting.

There must have been thirty of them.

All mutts, all slimy green skin and webbed paws and fluttering gill manes and—

No, they weren't meant to run.

They were meant to swim.

Flattening their legs against their bodies, one by one we watched dozens shoot into the saltwater lake like spears. They were coming at us, coming right for the island faster than I thought possible.

Peeta had one hand on the side of the huge horn when we heard frenzied cries.

"Help!" Chaff's voice was garbled.

He was about ten feet away, splashing feebly, but we couldn't help him.

Peeta and I hauled ourselves up onto the cornucopia just as the mutts reached the island. Immediately, about two dozen leapt onto Chaff's drowning body, dragging it under, and seconds later a dark red stain because drifted up to the surface.

I would have gagged, but the other mutts were flying—_flying_—out of the water, as graceful as birds, soaring just high enough to slap onto the side of the cornucopia with the sound of dropping a sopping wet towel.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to stop from screaming as I had to fall backwards to keep my feet from being caught by outstretched claws. My arms reached out for Peeta and he automatically wrapped his own around my trembling body, shielding me away from the horror. The only thing I heard was the distant booming of my own heart and the _slap slap_ sounds of the mutts as they hit the cornucopia, wet claws scrabbling before they dropped back into the water, determined to try again.

The next time I opened my eyes, I saw something float up to the surface of the water nearby.

_Oh, God._

I dropped onto my knees and vomited over the other side, tears running down my face and guts twisting themselves up inside if me.

The canon sounded.

I didn't move. My whole body was trembling.

Vaguely, I was aware of the slapping sounds slowing to a stop, and with a quiet "splash," the mutts vanished under the water. But still, I didn't get up.

"Katniss,"

_No_.

"Katniss."

I shook my head, eyes squeezed shut, curled in a fetal position.

I could still smell the rank, fishy scent of the mutts, the copper of Chaff's blood as it seeped through the water. The snarling, teeth clacking, the wet sounds of them hitting the gold, so close, _so close_.

"_Katniss._" Peeta's gentle fingers tried to pry my hands away from my face. When that didn't work, he gave up and sat down next to me, pulling me up onto his lap and rocking me.

_This can't happen_.

Waves lapped gently on the island, oblivious to the awfulness that just went on.

_No, no… We can't be the last ones left. No._

Somewhere above us, birds chirruped.

_There wasn't even a feast. Quick and clean…_

_Chaff's gone… What's going to happen?_

_No…_

My eyes peeled open and I found myself briefly staring into Peeta's brilliantly blue ones. They were full of fear and dread and sparkling wet, distracted and torn and everything I would never have wanted him to see or feel or—

I pulled away from him, crawling a few feet away before wiping y nose and looking back.

His arms were still outstretched, mouth parted and expression so sad I had to swallow in order to force the tears away.

So this was it.

_Happy 75__th__ Annual Hunger Games, Snow._

I stood.

_And may the odds be ever in your favor._

The wind tasted cool as I turned my face towards it, stepping closer to the lip where a two-story drop awaited me. Maybe it wouldn't kill immediately, but I'd be beyond saving.

My shoes were still in the jungle somewhere…

My bare toes curled around the rung circling the cornucopia's mouth.

"Oh, no you don't." Peeta grabbed onto my wrist and I turned back to find his face completely furious. "You can't do that."

I shrugged, feeling more hatred and disgust for the world than I ever had, but demeanor remaining surprisingly calm. "The Gamemakers will do it for you if I don't, you know that?"

His lips tightened. "…We've come this far, you can't leave me just like that. I'm not letting you."

Wetness shone in his eyes.

"And what's kept us alive, Peeta?" Peering down the cornucopia, I tried wetting my dry lips, but fear and anxiety still pulsated inside of me. "Surely not our good looks… The odds were never really in our favor." I paused dramatically, but held back a sigh. "I should have died in the first Games."

"No, y—"

"When I got my forehead spilt open and nearly bled to death?" I pointed to the ragged white scar above my eyebrow. "Or when I got stung by tracker jackers? Or the wolf mutts chasing us?" Bitterness tinged my voice. "My charm didn't win me out of those. I was _supposed_ to die. It would have been best."

Peeta was upset at me for this. His fists were balled and eyebrows slanted in an angry line. "What about me? The cut I got from Cato? Where my leg nearly got torn off? I should have been dead just like you."

"I helped with that," I spat. "I wasn't just going to let you die. There wasn't any choice."

"…I wasn't going to let you die, either."

Pause.

When Clove cut my forehead, Peeta wrapped it up to stop the bleeding.

When tracker jackers stung me, Peeta was the one who came back and told me to run so Cato didn't find me.

And if Peeta hadn't been there, the mutts would have gotten me for sure.

My lungs felt tiny and my heart started to slug on slower, as if pumping syrup and not blood.

All of those time we were supposed to die and didn't…we helped _each other_. We were the reasons the both of us were alive.

"We had help," I said weakly, licking my dry lips again.

Now Peeta had his eyes narrowed, too. "…Who do you think helped us?"

Haymitch.

No, the sponsors.

The audience, because they wanted their star-crossed lovers to win. They adored us.

With Each other's help, we lived. Through it all, holding hands, sharing kisses. A Game becoming reality in more ways than one.

The audience didn't want us to die. I knew that for a face. And we didn't want to die, either.

It clicked.

"Peeta," I said nervously, "do you think the Capitol audience really wants us to die?"

Peeta frowned, taken aback by my change of conduct. "…I don't know. I guess. If our deaths were entertaining enough."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" I snapped, but forced myself to take a calming breath. For the effect, I put a hand over my stomach. "I mean genuinely. Would our deaths—particularly mine—make anyone upset?"

His eyes flicked briefly to my stomach and I saw in his eyes that he understood.

"Well…" Peeta cleared his throat uncertainly. "I know everyone was really distraught when I announced your pregnancy. Surely killing both of you wouldn't bring a terrible lot of joy."

"We've survived four—no, _five_ different kinds of mutts." Thinking of the lions made me shudder. "Straight from the Capitol's labs."

"And over forty people out to kill us," he pointed out.

"Two arenas, two Games—well, almost two—and here we are."

Peeta shook his head. "Where are you going with this?"

We were within touching distance, so I reached over and laced our fingers together. Deep breath… Closing my eyes for a second and then opening them, struggling to keep my nerves behind bars. "…I'm proud to be carrying your child. And I'm proud to be your…wife." Oh god, stop it. My throat was getting closed up. Do _not_ cry. "I honestly am. You're the best friend and husband and fighter I could ever hope for, and I want to tell you that I really do…love you."

Peeta looked so sorrowful I took a step closer and squeezed his hand gently. He was mouthing "no" over and over.

I tried to smile, but my sinuses had gotten hot and stuffy. _No, stop being so emotional_. A tear blurred my right eye and slid onto my cheek. _Stop. Stop it right now._ I stretched up on my tippy toes to press my lips against Peeta's.

They tasted like grief.

Peeta was the first to pull away, copping my face with both his hands. There was saltwater on his cheeks, too. "Don't do this to me," he whispered in a thick voice. "Please, Katniss. You're the first person I've only ever loved."

There was no pretending.

This was no game.

I tried to smile again, and that time succeeded. "Don't worry."

One step back. A step away from the edge.

My mind was whirring, gears grinding, light bulbs flickering on and off.

My head lifted up and I could feel every eye in Panem on me.

_This is probably really stupid_, I thought. _I hope I don't mess this up…_

"So this is what's left," I said in a loud, clear voice.

I was addressing the whole country.

"Just me and just him. So far you've succeeded to do a lot of damage, Snow; I bet you're really pleased."

Peeta looked like I just punched the president in the stomach. _You're asking for it_.

Butterflies were flying in my gut. "But notice, your actions—and the Gamemakers actions—have so far succeeded in killing of so many people in the past seventy-five years. Over forty people in the past two. Yet, Peeta and I are still here."

My partner crossly grabbed my hand and yanked me backwards. His voice was furious and scared, hissing in my ear. "Katniss, this is dangerous. They have more powerful weapons; you don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, yes I do," I said simply, confidently, and smiled again. But that time it was sad. "I refuse to live without you, and you without me." My head turned back to the invisible cameras. "And if _we_ don't do something about that, we know you people in your control rooms _will_."

Though he looked terrified out of his mind, Peeta took my hand again and simply nodded.

_This is stupid_.

_A death wish_.

"Send out more mutts. A 'natural disaster.' Poison fumes. Whatever you like."

_Suicide_.

My smiled widened and I lifted my head higher, spreading my arms out. "So bring it on. I'll be waiting right here." I'm no longer a piece of your damn Games.

I sat down, crossing my legs, and waiting until Peeta did the same.

He looked like he was going to throw up.

When our eyes met, my fingers curled tighter around his. "Live together, die together, right?"

Peeta kissed my cheek, but said nothing.

I probably just got us both killed.

Oh well.

Silence answered me.

For a very long time.

The sun scorched our shoulders.

The wind shifted our hair.

Birds sang their song.

I expected a tsunami, maybe, or more mutts.

But nothing.

Waved hummed quietly on the sand.

And finally—

_Finally_—

There it was.

Claudius Templesmith.

He sounded like he was being strangled.

"Ladies and gentleman," he said, straining to keep his voice discernible, "I present to you the victors of the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

**oOo**

_Before you start going on about that being too simple and un-realistic, just pause and think all the damage Snow can do to them when they're ALIVE. Oho! Genius._

_Please review! And have a good weekend. _


	7. Chapter 7

_This chapter's probably going to be weird…maybe too short or awful or something. Just warning you!_

_Enjoy._

**oOo**

The second the words were said, I realized just how much damage I had done. If Peeta's arms hadn't been around me I would have collapsed. He held on just long enough for the hovercraft to materialize above us and drop the two ladders.

My numb fingers curled around one of the rungs and the electrical current froze my body.

_Suicide_.

The word echoed in my head over and over like a broken record, but it was often overlapped by paralyzing disbelief.

We made it out?

Peeta and I?

Again?

Just by those few sentences… Why did they do it? Why did Plutarch let me live? Why did _Snow_ let me live? Surely, if it had been his idea he wouldn't have, but yet… He wouldn't have let Claudius Templesmith announce it if he didn't want the Games to be over just then…

What moved the president to let us live when we created such chaos, went against the rules and being responsible for an uprising?

I didn't know which time I'd been more terrified: when the mutts were eating Chaff and snapping at our heels or just then, that realization.

And Peeta… I ruined his future, whatever chance of normalcy he might have had was gone. He was in danger. I failed, I _failed_.

My eyes locked on with his as we were getting pulled into the craft. His expression was not one I expected. Anger, panic, sadness—no, much more than sadness.

When we got up into the hovercraft and unfroze, I immediately felt a needle jabbed into my arm. There was no time to apologize before falling out cold.

_Beep._

…

_Beep._

…

_Beep._

…

My eyelids felt as heavy as iron curtains. I was vaguely aware of the metal bands on my shoulders and ankles, and numbness pulsed from the crook of my arm.

Strange… My gut felt on fire, twisting and yanking deep, but it didn't really…feel like my gut. I forced my dry lips open to moan, but I only got out a small huff of breath before getting pulled under again.

This happened twice more. Both moments I woke with the same stomach pain. The second time my eyes were able to open and I found an Avox waiting for me.

"Peeta…" I whispered, craning my stiff neck to look in another direction. "I need to talk to him."

Alarm unexpectedly slammed in my chest and I struggled against my bindings. The Avox pressed something on the wall that knocked me out. Again.

I was allowed to eat the next time I woke up. For a few days this went on—like in the first Games—and it was a relief to wake up one last time without the bindings or needles in my arm. The pain in my stomach wasn't as bad, but something felt terribly wrong.

I had to ignore it.

My back creaked as I sat up in my paper gown. Taking a moment to assess the damage done on me, I found that the itching scabs from the ants were gone, as were the scratches and bruises and other such injuries I'd gotten in the arena. My hair, which had been damaged from the poison fog, seemed fixed as well.

Though nothing stopped my heart from aching.

_Now is not the time to have an emotional breakdown from self-loathing, _I warned myself, hugging my arms around my middle. _Get up now._

Silently, I slid from the floor, staggering for a second before standing straight.

The door on the other side of the room was unlocked, so I left through it and found myself standing in an empty grey hallway. At the end of the hall was a partially-ajar door than I entered.

Haymitch sat at a couch, holding a glass of amber liquid. His hair was greasy, there were circles under his eyes and a grimace seemed forever plastered on his mouth as he stared into his glass.

I stood for a few minutes, unsure what to say, until he slowly slid his gaze up to mine.

"You," he croaked, "are in serious trouble."

My face grew hot with irritation. "Haymitch—"

"Don't '_Haymitch_' me!" he yelled furiously, standing and sloshing some of his drink onto the floor. "What the HELL were you thinking? 'Get Peeta out alive,' you said, but now look what you've done! You've doomed both of you by that little stunt!" Spit was flying out of his mouth.

"You don't understand!" I cried, balling up my fists. "I can't—"

"I know, I know…" Haymitch snorted, giving me a nasty look while sopping up his spilled drink with an expensive-looking rug. "You can't live without him. Bullcrap. He would have been better off dead than what's going to happen to you two now."

And with that, he stormed out, muttering words like "stupid" and "brat" and "selfish."

Tears welled in my eyes after him, but there was no time to cry because Effie teetered in in her seven-inch heels, looking slightly abashed. She took one look at me before wrapping me in a short, suffocating embrace.

"Don't mind Haymitch," she tutted, giving the back of the door a disdainful look. "He hasn't slept in days." After a second more of looking distraught, her expression beamed. "But look at you! I admit, I didn't think you could pull it off again, but you never fail to disappoint. Once your prep team get ahold of you again you'll be good as new." She blinked her frighteningly long eyelashes at me for a second before snapping back into focus. "But never mind that. We need to get you back to your room to get cleaned up before dinner."

Effie grabbed onto my hand, digging in with her claws, and marched me out of the room.

"Where's Peeta?" I asked as we walked. "I need to talk to him."

My escort tutted again. "Patience, Katniss. You'll see each other at the interview."

"When is it?"

We swerved down another hallway.

"Tomorrow evening before dinner," Effie said, and then stopped suddenly in front of a door. "This is your room for tonight, and then tomorrow you'll be relocated to another one next to Peeta's until everything's over. Now, dinner is at six, and there are Avoxes to call on if you need anything." She let go of my hand and kissed both of my cheeks. "See you soon!"

I watched the back of her erect, patterned suit as she walked away, leaving me the only one in the empty hallway. Maybe I should have been glad for the alone time, but I felt vulnerable and weak. Before I did anything stupid, I ran into my room, locked the door tight behind me, and curled under the chemical-smelling covers of the bed and prayed that President Snow would spare Peeta.

It was only an hour until dinner when I dragged myself out of bed into the shower. I scrubbed myself until I was pink and tingling, and then walked around in my room naked until I found the closet. I pulled on a pair of black trousers and a loose button-up shirt. Someone obvious found my mockingjay pin and left it for me on the dresser, but I didn't put it on.

If I had my way, I wouldn't even _go_ to dinner and order some stew, eating it in my underwear in bed until I fell asleep.

But that was not happening.

Effie came at six, like she said. Beaming, she wobbled on her heels all the way to the dining room. It was void of anyone except for a white-clad Avox standing next to a buffet of food that made me want to puke. I grabbed a bread roll and ladled some clear broth-looking liquid into a bowl and picked at it at the table.

Ten minutes in, Effie cleared her throat. "You don't look so well, Katniss. Should I call a doctor?'

"I'm fine," I said, shrugging. "My stomach just hurts."

"Aw." She clucked her tongue. "Let's hope you feel better by the interviews. We wouldn't want your big day to be spoiled by some bug."

It was hard not to glare at her. "…Just nerves," I mumbled, and stood up. "I'm going back to my room." When Effie opened her mouth to argue, I interrupted."I'm not hungry." And left her to her own dinner.

That night I dreamed of ants. Red, as long as your fingers, crawling inside my skin and clothing and crawling into my mouth. I wanted to scream, but they would crawl into my throat, biting and burying into my skin. Through watering eyes I could see Peeta a few feet away getting eaten by the creatures too. His mouth was open and irises rolled back into his head.

"Peeta," I tried crying out, but no noise left my mouth.

The second my lips parted the bugs flooded my mouth.

A scream woke me.

Cold sweat was prickling all over my body, soaking the pillows under my head and the blankets that were tangled around my waist. My skin prickled with the feeling of the ants still on me and I stood jerkily, ripping the clothes off my body and gasping, trying to slap the feeling away.

A freezing-cold shower gave me a big enough headache to stop the scuttling-bug feeling, and I crawled in bed naked, only to realize my gut was acting up again. It felt like the world's worst menstrual cramps. Mother would probably have something to help it, but she wasn't there.

I didn't sleep again that night. Instead, I thrashed around and tried not to cry until Effie came to wake me. There were huge bags under my eyes and my hair was completely mussed up from tossing and turning so much. Effie took one look at me and frowned.

She walked past and ordered some breakfast from the automatic food dispenser, and then turned back to me.

"Don't worry, Katniss," she said in an attempt at a soothing voice, patting my cheek. "I'll explain to everyone why you aren't at breakfast."

"Thanks," I mumbled, absentmindedly clutching at my stomach and turning back. The smell of cinnamon from breakfast was alluring, but I knew I couldn't eat.

The rest of the day was spent in anxious solitude, pacing around and sipping water and forcing myself to eat, though I felt incredibly ill.

Effie came to tell me when my prep team would arrive—which happened to be right after her—and minutes after she left, Venia, Octavia and Flavius burst in and enveloped me with hugs and kisses and got right to work making me presentable for the interviews.

"Is Cinna coming in afterwards? Where is he?" I asked, cutting their frivolous conversations short.

They all fell silent.

Venia, who was hovering above my face with a pot of makeup, pursed her lips.

After several seconds of silence, she cleared her throat. "Close your eyes for the shadow, Katniss."

I closed them, but dread was building in my chest. "_Where is Cinna_?" I asked again.

"…He's not here." Flavius said quietly, inserting pins in my hair.

A memory flicked into my mind. Watching my stylist from inside a glass tube, being beaten bloody and senseless.

He isn't there.

He was never going to be there again.

"You're messing up your mascara," Venia complained, but it was half-hearted. She took a tissue and wiped away the black tears that were trailed from my eyelashes. "Don't worry. It'll be alright."

They didn't talk for the rest of the time. When they were done, all three of my prep team shuffled from the room without saying anything to me, heads bowed and hands folded.

My new stylist was terrifying, with red jewels down the bridge of his nose and a face tightened with surgery and hair the same red shade sticking half a foot up in the air. I didn't let him touch me.

"Your old stylist left your interview outfit here," he said in a frighteningly high-pitched voice, holding out something wrapped in plastic. "Quite the talent he had." He giggled, rolling pupil-less eyes, obviously from contacts.

I tentatively took the dress from him, and turned my back to him before removing my robe. I yearned for my old friend's company, but I knew I was on my own from then on.

It was hard wrestling into the dress, but I got it over my head and tied it in the back. Despite objections, my new stylist fixed the frizz my hair had taken on from static electricity.

"If it had been up to me," he chirped disapprovingly, "your outfit would be completely different, but so be it. I'll have you to myself soon enough."

I yanked away from him and turned to the ceiling-to-floor mirror on one side of the room.

Cinna had done it again.

Before, he managed to make me into so many different people, seemingly changing my personality with each outfit. Influential, desirable, girlish, headstrong. He managed to make me a new person again with this outfit.

A floor-length gown made of black silk gathered at the hips to fall in a waterfall of shimmering gold and yellow were barely visible, slipping through the black like a campfire in the night. The straps were needle-thin, the neckline plunging. The waist was extremely fitted and had lace crawling up the back and wrapping around my front. With it was a pair of black gloves that went up to my elbows and shiny dark shoes that had small heels.

Around my neck was draped several necklaces made of red and orange jewels and teensy pearls. Flavius had done my hair back so curls cascaded down my back and were pinned on the top of my head, framing my face; smoky eyes and bright red lips and rosy cheeks.

Cinna had made me a lady, the kind hundreds of years ago that wore hats of feathers and silk.

I didn't recognize myself a single bit. I looked older, absolutely gorgeous, impenetrable yet vulnerable.

When I walked I had to hold the skirt up so it would not brush the ground, and I remembered Effie's words and held it a little lower than the ankles. I felt like Katniss Everdeen in another woman's body. The person looking back at me in the mirror hadn't gone what I'd gone through, hadn't seen what I'd seen, hadn't killed or betrayed or lied.

I wished I could tell Cinna how much I loved it, but he wasn't there, so I made due with completely ignoring my new stylist and waiting near the door for Effie to come.

She did, and when we were walking side-by-side to the interview room, she leaned over and whispered, "You look absolutely stunning, Katniss."

"Thank you," I said. The tightness of the bodice did not do anything for my ever-growing stomachache, and I was having a hard time not crying out in pain. Well, even if my gut wasn't in such pain I would still be on the verge of crying. I felt terribly emotional and vulnerable, and that was _when_ I was avoiding thinking about everything that was upsetting me at the moment.

Outside the interview room door, Effie stopped and straightened one of my necklaces. "It's live right as we speak, so the second you walk in, remember you're on the screen."

I nodded.

"Good luck, Katniss. We'll be watching." She laced her hands in front of her and stepped back. "Even Haymitch, I'll make sure of it."

I thanked her again and, feeling the butterflies taking flight inside of me, I opened the door and stepped in.

I saw Ceaser first, with his dyed hair and lips and eyebrows, sitting on his usual chair in his usual twinkling suit with his usual plastic smile. In front of him, on the loveseat, Peeta sat. He was in a midnight black suit, elbows on knees, legs jittering with impatience.

His eyes snapped on me when I came in and he stood.

We didn't run to each other as we did in the first Games.

I saw him looking so clean and beautiful, and again I thought of how much damage I did. I remembered Haymitch's words… _"He would have been better off dead than what's going to happen to you two now…"_

Within seconds, I found myself tucked against Peeta's body, and then two tears fell from each eye. I _had_ to apologize, even though it was a meager compensation for the doom I set upon him. I needed to tell him that I was sorry, but we were live.

Chin resting on his shoulder, I put my lips against Peeta's ear, and in a shaky voice, said, "I think, Peeta…I think…" I knew. Our supposed unborn child was understood by all of the Capitol. The audience would take it. "Peeta, I think I lost him."

He was silent, but I thought it was from confusion.

"Peeta, I think he's gone," I repeated, pulling away to look into his dazzling eyes. His brows were furrowed. "I'm sorry." I buried my face in his chest again. "I'm so sorry… I'm sorry…"

He must have understood, because he just held me tighter, brushing a strand of my hair back.

After a few seconds, Ceaser cleared his throat.

Peeta held on for a moment longer just to press his lips to my cheek and whisper, "You look beautiful."

Stop being so nice. I just ruined your life. You should be hating me right about now.

We walked hand-in-hand over to the couch and sat, but instead of curling up next to him, I sat straight and just kept a hand in the crook of his elbow.

Ceaser reached over and kissed my gloved hand. "It's lovely to have you back, Katniss. May I say you look dazzling tonight?"

I let out a strained, weak laugh. "Thank you, Ceaser." And remembering our little game, I said, "You don't look terrible yourself."

He laughed back. "Well, shall we get this show on the road?" His eyes flicked up to the cameraman, who gave him a thumbs up. Ceaser smiled and leaned forwards, folding his hands. "First I'd like to start off with a welcome back and _congratulations_. I must say, you've got the eyes of every single person in Panem."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I nodded modestly.

"I have never seen a couple more determined to be together than you two, and it is such a heartbreaker to see something like that happen in an arena." Ceaser put his hands on his chest. "I am just absolutely _thrilled_ to be talking to you two again. I barely know where to start."

"The beginning works," Peeta said, trying for lightheartedness and joviality, but it failed.

Ceaser laughed again. "Right you are. So..." He folded his hands. "During our first interviews for these Games, I was genuinely hoping that one of you would be this years' victor. What were your thoughts, knowing that only one was allowed for victor at the time? What was on your minds? Katniss?"

Though I didn't necessarily want to, I knew that the truth was probably the best thing to tell right then.

Truth…

I fiddled with one of my necklaces. "…To be perfectly honest with you, Ceaser, I had made a deal with our mentor that we'd do everything in our power to get Peeta out alive. I wasn't worried about myself at all."

Ceaser's eyebrows raised with surprise and he looked over at Peeta for his input.

"That's very funny," Peeta said—almost bitterly—and gave me a pointed look, "because Haymitch promised me that same thing about you."

Our interviewer clucked his tongue. "Tragic. So you went on through the Games assuming the other would be the one to win?"

We nodded.

"And up on the cornucopia…?"

I sighed, glancing down at my hands. "…I had hoped that maybe someone would…would get to me before I had to even consider what would have happened if we were the last. Up until then I was fine with the plan."

"Then everything changed." Ceaser shook his head sadly.

"Then everything changed," I agreed, tightening my grip on Peeta and lifting my head to look up at him. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Peeta gave me a small kiss on the lips. "I'd never try to get rid of you. That was your idea."

"Only b—" I stopped myself.

No arguing on live TV.

Forcing a rigid smile, I looked away. "We deserved to be a family together."

Ceaser nodded, as if he understood. "Of course you do, of course. Now, what about your friends you made in the arena? That was some accident that happened. Did you at all predict that your own allies would fall victims to such a clever trap?"

"Of course not," Peeta and I said at the same time. Peeta apologized and let me answer.

"I didn't really know if it would even work," I said quietly. "Beetee was the smart one out of us. I didn't think it would _work_, let alone kill all of our friends."

For some reason, Ceaser laughed. "It was a little strange, wasn't it? Well, I suppose it worked the first time. And you felt…close to these people?"

"Not close, really." I shrugged, feeling bothered. "But I knew that I owed Finnick. He saved Peeta's life."

"And it's the first gift that's the hardest to repay." He nodded sympathetically again. "Yes. What did you think about that, Peeta?"

Peeta frowned. "...After I hit the force field, everything just went black. It wasn't like you'd think, being aware enough to know you're dead. It wasn't anything. But I came about, and I saw Katniss kneeling over me, crying with happiness, and right then I just…" he trailed off.

I couldn't help but put both of my arms around his waist. "…You really scared me."

"I'm okay now," he reassured me, kissing the top of my head. "I wasn't about to leave my family."

"That's very sweet…" Ceaser's face lit up as if remembering something amazing. He leaned forwards towards Peeta. "Speaking of family, Peeta, the interview we had earlier with you…"

He let out a breath. "I would have given anything to have more than three minutes to discuss what you'd said. Thankfully, we can take all the time we want now. So," His gaze turned to me and his mouth stretched out expectantly, "Katniss. When Peeta announced your pregnancy, you seemed beyond distraught. What was going through your mind?"

I had to stick to my charade. It was easy bringing tears to my eyes and contorting my face with pain. Pause. "…The…idea of having something…someone…" My throat actually closed off. "If anything happened to Peeta…I'd have a bit of him with me. A…reminder of…"

I put my hands over my face and pressed against Peeta's side, feeling hot tears in my eyes. And they weren't exactly intentional.

He put his arm around my shoulders and held me. Thankfully, he was smart enough to understand what I was doing and what I meant.

Ceaser reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright, Katniss?"

The façade was working fabulously. My face was wet and twisted and voice shaking as I repeated, "I think I lost him…"

His colored brows furrowed.

"…The baby." I buried my face again.

Peeta sucked in a breath and squeezed his arms. His own face knotted with pain.

Ceaser's mouth popped open.

Silence except for my muffled snivels.

Finally, after the agonizing pause, our interviewer glanced over at the cameraman. "Cut for a break, please."

The second we were off air I stood up and walked to the other side of the room, still hiding my face in my hands.

If this was pretend, why did my heart hurt so badly? Why were there still tears on my cheeks?

I hadn't realized Peeta had gotten up until he came over and gently took my hands away from my face. I didn't want to look him in the eyes. Because of shame, maybe. But he didn't look like that was on his mind at all.

Peeta put his hands on either side of my head and wiped the tears away with both thumbs.

"It'll be fine, Katniss…" he murmured, resting his forehead against mine.

"I'm sorry," I said again, shaking my head. "I'm so s—"

To shut me up, he put a finger across my lips and sighed. "I know you are. But it isn't your fault."

_Yes it is…_

I didn't say anything.

Peeta sighed and looked back at Ceaser. "Could someone get her some water?"

Our interviewer nodded and gestured to a silent Avox standing near the corner of the room waiting for this exact reason. The man disappeared out the door.

Though it looked like Peeta wanted to say more, he just let out another sigh and looked down at the floor. His fingers wound around mine for a moment away from the cameras. "…I'm going to give you a moment to regain composer, but remember, we have an audience to impress."

It was obvious he was fighting to urge to do or say something else, and I knew that was because he didn't know how I would react. Just because of that, I stretched up and pressed my lips to his. It was a sweet kiss, not pretend at all. I just wanted him to know I still cared.

It worked, and when Peeta pulled away, there was a small, sad smile on his face. "…Love you, Katniss."

The way he said it…

My throat had closed off yet again, so I nodded to him and accepted the Avox's offering of water.

Peeta went back over to the small couch and seated himself at it, clearing his throat at Ceaser. "Let's give her a few minutes."

Ceaser nodded sympathetically. "Do you mind if we start rolling again? Do you mind if I talk to you alone?"

Though I was right there—not fifteen feet away—Peeta said, "Not at all," and they both straightened up as the cameraman pressed something on his expensive equipment.

"On in five…four…three…" he started saying, "two…one. And we're live."

Ceaser shot a frightening, wide smile at the camera. "Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. Katniss is taking a short break, but we have Peeta here, so if you don't mind, Peeta, I'm _dying_ to ask you some questions."

I sipped water as my face dried a little, watching the two.

Peeta tried to smile good-naturedly, but it was tired. "Ask away, Ceaser."

The interviewer laced his finger on his lap and leaned in. "You've already informed us of the fact that you and Miss Everdeen are already married?"

"We toasted, yes, but it's not official." Peeta nodded.

"But now you two have made it out, it can and _will_ be official. How do you feel about that?"

He took a deep breath, creasing his forehead. "…I'm excited, of course. Sort of in shock." A laugh. "Though, the toasting already bound us. To me, it can't get more official."

"Well of course." Ceaser winked. "That and the fact that she's pregnant with your child."

"Let's not go there, Ceaser." Peeta's expression stiffened.

"Oh, that's right. That's right. I apologize." The interviewer seemed genuinely contrite. "But I must ask you this; now that you both are out and safe, what do you plan on doing?"

"Oh, I doubt we're safe," Peeta said honestly, tilting his head, "but we're going to do what we were originally going to. Accept the fact that our lives are changed forever and carry on."

"Of course." After clearing his throat and giving him a sly, official raise-eyebrow look. "Now, I was going to save this for the end, but if Katniss is ready, I would like to say something to the both of you."

I set down my water, wiped my eyes, and then went to sit down next to Peeta again. He automatically wrapped his arm around me, providing support.

"Everything okay?" he whispered in my ear, and I nodded.

"So, Katniss," Ceaser said, turning my attention to him. "This normally doesn't happen, but President Snow has specifically requested permission to join us for the last bit of the interview. Do you feel comfortable with that?"

_No_.

"Of course." I forced the corners of my mouth to turn upwards. "He is, after all, why we're alive."

Peeta caught the bitterness and sarcasm, but didn't say anything.

A huge, artificial smile widened on Ceaser Flickerman's face and he turned to the camera again. "In that case, citizens of Panem, I give you our one and only…President Snow!" He stood and gesticulated widely to the door, which opened suddenly.

When Snow entered, my heart leapt up to my throat and it felt as though each of my veins constricted with terror.

Snow waved to the audience and they played a live clip of the crowds screaming and cheering for a few seconds before cutting it off again. A seat was pulled up next to Ceaser where the president sat, folding his hands on his lap. The fume of roses flooded my nostrils and I tried not to gag.

"So, President, I heard you have an announcement to make," our interviewer said happily, turning to Snow.

Snow cleared his throat. "More of an…invitation. To our young victors here." His colorless eyes slid over and latched onto mine.

My insides turned to jelly.

"Since you are turning eighteen in a matter of weeks, Mr. Mellark," Snow said to Peeta, and then turned to me, "and in about a year for you, Ms. Everdeen, I have decided to make it an option for you and your families to…relocate."

"Relocate?" Peeta constricted his sweaty fists briefly, and frowned. "What do you mean?"

President Snow widened his snake smile, tilting his head as if this question mildly interested him. "I am giving you a formal invitation to move yourselves and your families to quarters here in the Capitol. Right in my mansion, in fact." He looked at the camera. "How does that sound?"

The cameraman cut to the live crowds again and the excited screams were deafening.

My mouth dried up.

He wanted me and Peeta to move into his mansion.

To keep an eye on us? To kill us?

We couldn't refuse.

Sweating and trembling like a leaf, I glanced up at Peeta, who looked like a deer in the headlights. He knew we couldn't refuse. "…How very kind of you to offer." He attempted smiling, but it was afraid. "I think, President, we just might take you up on that."

"Excellent." Snow reached over to shake Peeta's hand. "You two really are an impressive pair. I'm keeping my eyes on you." When he took my hand, I felt the promise pulsing between the contact.

The promise to make my life miserable. The promise to hurt me, maybe to kill me.

I let go quickly and tucked both arms around my chest.

"So, I think that just about does it for our interview!" Ceaser clapped his hands together, and all four of us stood in unison. He gripped Peeta's hand. "Congratulations again, you two. I think we'll be telling our children your stories long after you're gone."

That was comforting.

Ceaser took my gloved hand and kissed it again, and just like that, we were off air.

Snow left soon, and we met Effie outside the room.

She was fluttering around and beaming. "You two really are charmers," she said. "Everyone _loved_ you."

I just clutched to Peeta's arm. My gut was doing its pain thing again, and I was having trouble standing without teetering back and forth.

Effie noticed my illness. "You really don't look well, Katniss. How about we talk over everything at dinner, and I'll fit a doctor's appointment for you in tomorrow? If you're having the trouble that you claim to be, we'll definitely need to see to that before it causes too much trouble." Her eyes slid down to my stomach.

I suddenly gasped. "No! No. I'm fine." Because, after all, I wasn't really pregnant.

"Nonsense. I'll talk to the doctors after we get you settled in yours rooms." She led us down more hallways. "Now, I'll be back bright and early tomorrow to fetch you two for breakfast. There's still so much to do!"

Our new rooms were right next to each other, but I didn't want to let go of him. After several minutes of standing between the two doors, I forced myself to let go and limped into mine, doubled over from pain. It had transformed, twisted.

I didn't even have any time to marvel at the luxuries of this new suite before curling up on the couch and crying myself to sleep.

**oOo**

_I'm sorry that ended so terribly. I suck at writing interviews. I had the WOOOOORRRST writers block during the last half and just wanted to get over with it. _

_You can probably guess what I'm going to do with this._

_To an extent. Bwahahaha…_

_So anyways, please review! If you have any questions or comments or anything like that._

_Love all you!_

_Soggy_


	8. Chapter 8

_So today I was sitting on the armchair in my living room while my hard-working mom took a nap on the couch. Of course, I was typing on this chapter, and absentmindedly began chewing on my headphones. My little 9-year-old sister came over to me and whispered that I was going to get shocked. I wanted to prove her wrong, you know? So I sniggered and yanked out the headphone cord from my laptop and stuck it in my mouth…_

…_blasting Muse across the living room and waking my mother up._

_She was not happy._

_Anyways, I thought I'd share that little story with you. Thank you all for reading this chapter, and thanks to my lovely friend Katy who helped me with the last!_

_Enjoy!_

**oOo**

**PEETA'S POV**

I woke too early in the morning and found myself staring up at the ceiling until I could no longer take the stillness. Tossing the covers off, I padded barefoot across the room to take a shower. My mind was flooded with all sorts of things, but most of them were too painful to dwell upon.

And Katniss… I saw her face behind my eyelids. Bruised and dirty but clinging onto my hand like her life depended on it. Those words that came from her mouth but sounded like from someone else. The words that brought us out of the frying pan and into the oven. She pretty much screwed us both _royally_, but she knew that.

I didn't know what was going through her mind… She says she loves me, acts like she changed her mind, and then goes and does _that_. Instead of killing herself she damned us to a life that probably is worse than killing ourselves in the first place. Did she do that because she loved me or to spite the Capitol? Because the latter seemed the more probably out of the two.

It hurt thinking of it.

I had to admit, that ruse was very clever of her for the interview. Playing the pregnant card worked like a charm every time. Though, something about it seemed kind of…real. The way she was looking at me, the tears in her otherwise impassive face, how she trembled long after the interview was done. I wanted to do so much more than hold her, but I was scared.

Did she love me or was this for the Capitol, as it always had been before?

Unable to stand it any longer, I threw on a shirt over my pajama bottoms and strode out the door.

Behind hers, which was adjacent to mine, no sound came out. No hum of electricity, no hiss of the shower. Not even the swish of clothing (not that I was listening in for that…) Swallowing that bad feeling I had in the pit of my gut, I reached up and knocked.

As I expected, no answer.

I knocked again. "Katniss, please come to the door."

Silence. I didn't even hear the bed moving or doors opening. It was as if she wasn't in there at all.

"Katniss, if you don't answer I'm coming in."

Normally I hated doing that, but something stirring deep in my gut made me worried.

As anticipated, she didn't come to the door. And it was unlocked. Hesitantly, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Our suites were arranged in a sort of one massive, continuous room. From the front door you could see a bit of the doorless kitchen off to the left behind a big bookshelf, and then to the right was an expansive area for the living room with steps leading up a foot or so, and then a closed-off bathroom and bedroom a little behind that.

In my mind I would have had to find her in her bedroom, but that was not the case.

Katniss was on the couch, curled up in a tight ball. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach and her knees were tucked up to her chest. Goosebumps covered her bare arms.

I stepped briskly over to the living room section and dropped onto my knees in front of the couch. "…Katniss?"

A second passed and her eyes slid open, releasing two fat, silver drops. Pain twisted her face up.

I felt my own expression screw up and pale. Careful not to hurt her, I managed to get one of my arms under her shoulders to half-lift her to my chest. "…You need a doctor."

"No, no…" she whispered, burying her face in her hands. "I'm fine." Agony broke her voice several times.

I lifted her up with both arms and a strangled cry left her lips.

"You're okay," I promised her, though I knew neither of us were. "I'm getting you some help."

There was a button over by the bookshelf to press for Avox assistance, and I pressed it twice.

Within a matter of seconds, two mute, pallid people appeared side-by-side in the room, and I sent them for Effie's guidance to the doctors.

Katniss kept muttering disagreements, but there was sweat beading on her forehead and her fingers clung weakly around my neck. She seemed so sick; I didn't know if it was the nerves doing somersaults in my own stomach or something else. Whatever it was, though, I was scared out of my mind for her and refused to let go.

Effie came a few minutes later, looking sleep and carrying a cup of coffee, but when she saw Katniss, a little gasp bubbled from her mouth.

"I _told _you that you needed a doctor, Katniss, but you never listen," she said disapprovingly, but fluttered her hands. "Your appointment is not for another three hours!"

"You show us to the doctors or else we're going after it ourselves," I threatened in a low, uncharacteristic voice.

Effie's eyebrows went up. "But—"

"She's _sick_, can't you see?" My voice raised a few octaves. "We need—"

"Be quiet…" Katniss mumbled weakly from my arms. "I have a headache…"

Our escort sniveled a little, but finally gave in. "Go get one of those beds with wheels," she told an Avox. "And hurry."

The mute servant ducked her head and rushed out.

"I'm _fine_," Katniss repeated, trying to sound stronger. "I don't need a doctor. Let me down."

"K—"

"I said _let me down_."

I thought it was a terrible idea, but the scowl she was giving me was so intimidating I carefully set her on her feet, keeping a good grip, though, just in case.

She was unable to stand up straight, but at least she was able to stay on her feet.

Very soon after, another few Avoxes came with one of those beds, as instructed. It was hard getting Katniss up on it. At first she argued, refusing to be wheeled anywhere, but when she tried standing straight and her face drained of what little color it had left, I ignored her protests and dumped her on it with my own arms.

A small, pained hiss was escaping her mouth as we wheeled down the hall. "I'm sorry," she said for the millionth time in two days. "I don't mean to be a baby."

"You're not being a baby," I told her. "We want to keep you healthy. It's best if you don't make this any harder."

She didn't say anything.

I could tell she was completely furious with the idea of having to go to the doctors. I knew she was against anything except natural apothecary healings, but being in the Capitol made it ten times worse. In fact, _I_ hated her having to go, but I'd rather that than her get any worse. If there was one thing I refused to deal with is watching her be in pain.

Through several hallways, two elevators, a security checkpoint and another elevator, we got to the hospital section. Avoxes roamed the sparkling-white corridors, hands clasped in front of them, avoiding eye contact. Nurses all in similar dark blue garb walked, too, but talked and laughed and compared charts while walking back and forth. It all was rather frightening, so I kept my head down until Effie got us past receptionists and to the real room where a doctor was waiting.

He looked so artificial and cartoonish it made bile rise to the back of my throat.

Everything about him was colorless and stretched, from the skin pulled over his puffy face to the white hair yanked back from his skull to the nearly-translucent eyes. His fingers were abnormally elongated, twisted around each other ominously.

There was no waiting around for introductions or anything. He clapped his hands at two nurse-assistant Avoxes briskly. "Let's get to work. Fetch me my gel and radiation."

"Radiation?" Katniss asked with a frown, and I pursed my lips, hovering over her protectively.

"Nothing to worry about, Ms. Everdeen." The doctor grabbed something from the hand of an Avox and told Katniss to stretch out.

"She can't," I said through gritted teeth.

He shot me a look, but then turned back to the Avoxes. "Relaxant." They gave it to him and he shot something straight into Katniss' stomach.

She let out a squeal of surprise and pain, but then she went limp. The doctor went and molded her into a flat position and tugged the hem of her shirt up.

I couldn't stand watching that. I clenched my fists and gnawed on the inside of my cheeks and glared at the floor, fighting resentment and distrust and protectiveness. _Keep your hands off her_…

Another needle went into her stomach and he drew a sample of blood out.

Katniss' face was red and she was practically glowing with rage and humiliation. I wanted to reach over and take her hand, but something inside of me told me that she wouldn't appreciate that, so I stood back with my arms crossed.

"Please leave me, Peeta," Katniss said in a low tone, watering eyes sliding over at me. "Wait outside."

Immediately, I objected. "Katniss, I'm n—"

"Five minutes. Please. Leave."

Fighting to maintain composer, I tightened my lips and marched stiffly out the door, closing it behind me.

Either she didn't want me there at all or she was giving me a minute to collect myself or…or something. I was probably overreacting. I _hated_ leaving her alone with them, just _hated it_.

The whole five minutes she gave me was spent pacing and grumbling under my breath and wringing my hands with worry. When that period of time was over, one of the Avoxes opened the door and ushered me inside, face as pale and emotionless as ever.

The doctor was sitting at a computer, flipping through some pictures. The room was darker than it had been when I stepped out, and poised over Katniss was a hulking piece of equipment, like a big metal beast crouching for a pounce. Katniss' shirt was tucked all the way up to her chest—some kind of strange goo was on her stomach—and she looked a little dazed. But still in pain.

When I came in she held out a hand and I took it, absentmindedly rubbing my thumb over her knuckles.

"Most peculiar…" the doctor was muttering to himself, clicking through the blurry pictures on his computer.

We'd never seen _anything_ like the things in this room in District 12. Computers were only in the fanciest shops in the fanciest parts of town, used to count money and such. Beds with wheels were only seen on TV, and never, _never_ had any one of us—no matter how wealthy—had seen a contraption like that hovering above Katniss. I wasn't sure how it worked or why her stomach was covered in gel or what the pictures on his screen meant or how they got there or anything.

I could only stand by Katniss' bed and hold her hand while the doctor deciphered the mysterious images.

Finally, after a very long moment of staring at a particular picture, he spun around in his chair to face us, hands folded on his lap and a sad sort of furrow to his colorless brows.

"I do not know how to break this, Miss Katniss," he said in his frightening high-pitched Capitol accent that was strangely sad, "but…you seem to be having a sort of…_malfunctioning_ miscarriage."

Both mine and Katniss' face popped into dumbfounded expressions.

Katniss was as pale as a sheet. "What do you mean?"

The doctor scooted his chair up next to her and tried taking her other hand but she snatched it back, looking terrified and defensive and suspicious. She was visibly trembling, but I couldn't figure out exactly why.

The word sounded so familiar… Something I'd heard incredibly rarely back home, but I couldn't remember what it meant.

The doctor shook his head sympathetically and pulled a small plastic package from a locked cabinet under his computer. In it were two identical pills.

"You're in no danger, Miss Everdeen, I assure you. There's just something malfunctioning in your miscarriage. It's an easy fix." he said, holding out the pills. "Take these and—"

Katniss suddenly sat up, grabbing the package and tossing it across the room. The plastic burst and the pills rattled to the floor. She was trembling and sweating and her face was screwed up so chillingly and she was yelling. "_What do you mean by '_MISCARRIAGE'_? _What do you mean?"

The doctor held up his hands defensively, face sympathetic but not less scary. "Easy, there. I know it's a terrible thing to hear, but there's no need t—"

Katniss let out an enraged howl and began trembling all over. I'd never seen her like that, trembling and sweating and face looking so twisted it wasn't even hers. Her back was arching and she was letting out horrific guttural noises.

The doctor pressed a new packet of pills into her clenching hands, but she looked like she did not have the energy to fight that anymore. She let out petrified snarls through her teeth and kept shaking her head as if it would get rid of the tears and fix everything.

Then I understood. What the word "miscarriage" meant.

My heart practically stopped.

The blood drained from my face.

A second passed I was frozen stiff, but then found myself enough to reach out to her with a hand. "Katniss—"

"Get away!" she screamed, shoving at me with both hands, teeth bared, crying tears of rage and grief. "Get away from me! _GO!_"

Struggling to breathe and to control upset tears of my own, I pulled my hands away from her and backed out of the room so fast I knocked into a passerby. The nurse gave me a quizzical look, but continued, holding her tray of vials a little tighter.

Back pressed against the wall, I sank, elbows on knees and head in hands. Fuzzy words stumbled around in my mind, accompanied with too many emotions to count.

Miscarriage.

That meant she had been pregnant.

_For real_.

Which meant that one night we weren't careful— the only time we ever—without being careful—so reckless—

If she hadn't had a miscarriage—

(What had caused it?)

–If she hadn't had a miscarriage, what would have happened?

Surprise, Katniss! You're actually pregnant after all!

Had she know during the interviews? She told me that she lost the baby, but I'd assumed she was playing another game. _Did she know?_

Miscarriage… Was she lying when she said she loved me? If so, would she have let us be a family? Would she had grown to love me after all?

I might have had a son. Or daughter.

My own flesh and blood, living, breathing, holding onto my neck as I carried him—or her—on my shoulders across the yard of our house…

Would he have looked like Katniss? Or me? Would he be reaped? Would he bake like his father or hunt like his mother? Would he—?

Someone tapped my shoulder.

I jolted so bad I stumbled sideways and had to catch myself with a hand.

A woman was standing next to me, offering down a tall glass of orange juice with a plastic smile stretched across her mouth.

I turned it down, wiping the saltwater that I hadn't realized was there from my face.

_Pull yourself together_.

I took a deep breath and pressed the balls of my palms into my eyes.

I don't know how long I was sitting there in a weak squat position against the wall. My legs had long since fallen asleep but I made no move to get up and stretch.

Hours, maybe, or days or—_whatever_—the door next to me finally rattled and opened. I turned my stiff neck up to see who exited.

Katniss, with red, puffy face streaked with drying tears, body hunched and arms crossed over her chest.

I stood slowly, trying to steady my shaking hands, wary of saying anything. Would she even want me after—?

I couldn't even think about it without wincing.

There was silence between us. She kept her eyes trained on the floor for a long time. I made no move to hold her hand or comfort her, though all I really wanted was to wrap my arms around her and wipe away the pain from her face. It was hard resisting, but I managed, keeping my distance and trying to act strong for one of us (though it did not work very well.)

"We should get back to the room before I'm sick all over the place," she finally said, voice cracked and bitter.

I was surprised, but didn't argue, following behind her defeated figure with a heavy heart of my own.

**KATNISS' POV**

I didn't bother waiting for him.

I was too torn.

My mind was so full all I could feel inside of me was cotton, all mashed and blurred together.

When I got to my room—after getting lost a number of times—I stumbled into it. Part of me wanted Peeta to ignore my foul mood and come to comfort me, but I couldn't help it. I was _fuming_. My entire insides burned and between my legs ached and my muscles were still weak. Repeatedly I found my memories thrusting me back into the hospital bathroom, sobbing over the sink, listening to what would have been my future child as the blood was flushed away.

It still ripped me into a million pieces.

It was supposed to have been a _lie_. None of it was supposed to actually happen. It was an accident, but I knew what I was doing when—

I knew it wasn't right to blame Peeta, but I needed someone to get angry at or it would fester and rot in my stomach, eventually exploding out in one—possibly homicidal—fit. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. I could tell how torn he was when I stepped out of the hospital room. He looked worse than I _felt_, which was quite a feat.

In my room I took a seat on the couch, curling my arms around my knees, staring off at the wall. It hurt to sit, I admit, but the pain sort of cleared my mind.

Though it was relatively warm, goosebumps covered my arms and I shivered, closing my eyes and leaning my head onto the back of the couch.

The door opened quietly.

Not now, please.

_ Come and hold me, I feel so broken and lost and alone…_

Please go away, Peeta. I can't stand the sight of you.

_Yes I can. Please tell me that things will be alright, even though I know they won't._

GO AWAY.

_Stay with me._

I kept my eyes closed tight and listened. His footsteps meandered off in the vicinity of the kitchen, where the food dispenser sat waiting for a command. I heard a muted beep and some clanking, but didn't lift my head.

Only when I felt a heavy, warm blanket drape around my shoulders I opened my eyes to look up.

Peeta was standing there, two mugs of steaming, spiced milk in his hands, looking distraught but otherwise penitent.

I blinked at him, not moving a muscle.

"…May I join you?" He held a mug out to me.

By accepting it, I meant yes, and so Peeta took a careful seat on an armchair next to the couch I was on. He perched awkwardly, cupping the mug with both hands. I saw that his face was red and puffy like mine, but I still kept silent.

In fact, we were noiseless for a while. I sipped my milk—though I had very little appetite—and stared at all wall huddled under my blanket. From the corner of my eye I saw Peeta and felt how the misery seeped from his aura in waves. It was almost painful.

After a long time, I cleared my throat. "Peeta."

He turned his blue gaze up to me.

Wordlessly, I stretched out one of my arms, holding the blanket, creating a space next to me for him.

He blinked, brows furrowing. No move to stand.

I kept my arm up, trying not to look _too_ pitiful.

And then he got up. Walked over to me. Let me fold the other side of the blanket around his own shoulders. But he didn't try to put his arm around me or—

I wanted to pretend I didn't know why he was being so distant, but I knew. It made the milk churn inside of my stomach, so I set the mug down on the coffee table in front of me.

Minutes passed and the situation got more awkward, with no contact other than the blanket draped over both of us.

Finally, Peeta turned his head towards me and sighed, a morose expression turning his mouth downward. "…I would apologize, but 'sorry' doesn't cover how…terrible I feel. Terrible doesn't even cover it either…" Another sigh slipped through his lips and his shoulders dropped. "…I guess the odds never really were in your favor."

"_Our_ favor," I corrected glumly, wrapping my arms around my legs. "But you're right." Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "We shouldn't have—"

My mouth snapped shut, but the damage was done. Peeta's face dropped even more, if that was possible.

There was that guilt again, boiling my innards. I should be _grateful_ I didn't have another person to take care of, to not worry about the reaping or Snow getting ahold of or…

So many "what ifs" ran through my head.

What if we hadn't been reaped?

What if we hadn't made such a huge impression?

What if we hadn't grown close?

What if Peeta had died?

What if our…our child had survived?

What if Peeta and I hadn't even slept together at all?

Well, I wouldn't be in so much pain, that's for sure…

I put my forehead on my knees and tried breathing deeply. Some part of me wanted comfort, sympathy. Even though my first instinct was to refuse anyone's reassurance, what I found myself wanted more than anything was to curl up against Peeta and breathe in his scent and close my eyes against the world, if only for a minute.

But he wasn't going to make the first move, I knew that for sure. And I didn't blame him. The old me would shove him into a wall if he tried so much as _touching_ me after something like that. But after all, it wasn't his fault that I…had a…_miscarriage. _It wasn't even completely his fault I got…pregnant in the first place.

God, even thinking about it made me sick.

I was tired of the ill feeling being in my gut, but without even thinking too much, I reached over and wrapped my hand around Peeta's, pulling it onto my lap. He stared at our entwined fingers as if holding hands was new to him.

"I don't blame you," I told him softly, "for not wanted to touch me."

His eyes flicked up to mine, and the agony melted into more of an objectively uncomfortable look. "…It's not really…that I don't want to touch you."

"You're afraid."

"Not entirely." Peeta frowned at our hands again. "It's more like…I'm afraid of something bad happening again. That I'll…lose control again."

I couldn't help but scoff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "That's a stupid reason. And people don't get pregnant from holding hands, so stop looking so terrified."

A weak smile touched his lips. "But I _am_."

Instead of joking about it, I scooted closer to him and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Because I doomed you for eternity by living? Or because we might...'lose control' again?"

Peeta let out a laugh that was bitter and sarcastic. "I'm not terrified that you've doomed me. And don't apologize again. I'm sick of hearing it."

My eyebrows raised, but when he didn't elaborate, I didn't ask. His thumb ran subconsciously across my knuckles. I tugged the blanket across him and met the corners between us, folding us tightly in the envelope of warmth. The position I'd been sitting in was really beginning to hurt me (after the excruciating miscarriage I just had) so I stretched out on the couch, putting my head on Peeta's lap, holding our twined fingers to my collarbone.

"…Hey, Peeta?"

"Hm?" He pressed his cheek to the top of my head.

"I'm sorry I screamed at you."

"I'm sorry I let you."

We both laughed a tiny bit, and despite the fact that it was quiet and weak, they were still laughs. Peeta took his head away from mine and settled back, head bowed slightly, looking lost in thought.

Even though I held his hand in mine, he was still stiff. Cautious. Formal. Wary. In fact, he'd been like that since we left the arena. A little in the interviews, walking in the hallways… That was the first time we'd had time alone since the arena—when everyone was watching us.

And suddenly, I knew what he was terrified of.

I sat up, furrowing my eyebrows in a startled, reproachful scowl at him. "You think I lied."

Peeta's own brows shot up with surprise. "What?"

"The day before the Quell started."

The inevitable rush of embarrassed blood to our cheeks came, but I ignored it.

"You think I was…using you." I let go of his hand and crossed my arms over my chest indignantly. "Lying about loving you. Saying it in the moment just so we could—just to—" Rage suddenly burst up to my throat and I stumbled off the couch, yanking the blanket off my shoulder and balling my fists. "What kind of girl do you think I _am_, Peeta? Do you really think I only did that just for—for—?"

Peeta stood up, looking defensive and upset. "I _know_ you didn't say you loved me just for that, Katniss. Calm down."

He looked pretty unsettled himself.

"I know you're not that kind of girl." He softened his voice a little, relaxing his clenched fists. "I know that. I'd never expect you to…" Peeta trailed off.

My eyes were stinging incredibly, my shoulders hunched and arms crossed over my chest. "…But you still think I lied."

Silence.

"…'Lied' is a strong word for it," Peeta said weakly, looking down at the floor guiltily. "We've been pretending for so long. There's really no distinguishing what you're pretending or telling the truth about. And don't take that as an insult," he quickly said, holding up his hands self-protectively. "I'm just telling it how I see it. There was no reason for it to be true and just…"

I wiped my nose again, glaring at him with such accusation it almost hurt my face.

He exhaled noisily, throwing his hands up with exasperation. "It's pointless asking what you really feel because I don't know if it's for their sake or for ours. If it's…real or not real."

"Well, it was—is." The anger leeched quickly from my stance and my shoulders dropped. Tears stung in the back of my eyes. "I'm sorry if I wasn't convincing enough."

The hurt on Peeta's face was so terrible I had to turn away from him.

"…Katniss…" He didn't sound upset or reproving. Just sad. "Katniss, look at me."

The moment my eyes open the tears were released, sliding down my face in sporadic rivers. But I looked into his eyes and he took a step closer. His fingers wrapped around mine, but I didn't pull away.

"You convinced me just fine," he said gently, after a few seconds, and brought our entwined hands up to his mouth to kiss. "Okay? I'm convinced."

Unable to say anything, I just lifted my other wrist to wipe my eyes and nodded.

Thankfully, our little conversation seemed to have him convinced.

Peeta let go of my hand and brought both of his up to cup my face. When he spoke, it was in a soft whisper. "I'm sorry about what happened, Katniss. If I could take back what happened that night…"

Before he could finish his trailed-off thought, I shook my head. "Don't. It's pointless. We can't take it back because it already happened and it's already done. Let's just focus on what's ahead, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." A small smile touched his lips, and I couldn't help but stretch up to kiss him. It was little and ended quickly, but…

We were alone—no direct eyes on us—and I kissed him and I _felt something_. It was moments like those I knew my decision was not a bad one.

A sharp noise broke us away, and I pulled backwards, disoriented. It took my brain a few seconds to connect the sound with someone on the other side of my room door, knocking.

"Come on, Katniss! You have a doctor's appointment in half and hour, and then your prep team is coming to dress you for a dinner with Capitol officials at five!" Effie's high-pitch Capitol accent sounded tinny behind the closed door. "No lagging behind in schedule!"

Peeta opened his mouth, but I put a finger across his lips and glanced back at the door.

We both smiled a little mischievously.

A few seconds pause.

Effie taps the door again. "You're going to be late for your appointment! Come on, Katniss, up and at 'em! We still have a big, big, big day ahead of us!"

"Did you lock the door?" I mouthed to Peeta, and he nodded.

After a while, Effie left.

Peeta tucked me onto the couch and practically forced some thick stew down my throat.

We sat like that on the couch for a while. He finally let himself put his arms around me and I leaned against him, half-sitting-half-laying down. My forehead was resting on the side of his neck and his hair tickled my nose, smelling like lemons and clean laundry (I missed the warm bread-dough smell, though.)

Effie came again at four in the afternoon, banging on the door with her fists. When her sugar-sweet coaxing did not untangle me with Peeta and the blanket wrapped around our shoulders, she resorted to screaming about her schedule and threatening to sick Haymitch on us. She must have been feeling sentimental that day, because after half an hour of pounding on the door with her fist, she finally left us alone.

And like that, we got the day to each other. A break from everyone else. We ate dinner together, I cried only once, and by bedtime, I was already half-asleep, draped across the couch while Peeta sat on the floor in front of me. Our shoulders were touching, his head resting on mine in the crook of my neck, and our arms were parallel, ending in twined fingers.

He'd already gotten up and turned the lights off for me, and I was drifting off. My innards felt incredibly heavy, dragging me further down into the couch, but the thoughts in my head were still so insurmountable it felt like they were pressing on the inside of my skull. It gave me a headache, forbidding me to fall asleep but keeping me in a sort of coma state.

_Glug…Glug…Glug…_

All I could hear for the longest time was the squeezing of my own heart in my ears. It sounded like a drum, or the beating of waves on the shore, so perfect and rhythmic it was like a song…

_Glug…Glug…Glug…_

I felt Peeta lift his head off of my shoulder.

I could have sworn he had been asleep. No matter. My body wasn't working well enough to do anything but process the information.

Peeta did something my comatose self didn't entirely expect him to do.

His warm lips pressed against mine, holding for only a second before pulling back.

I could help it.

My eyes fluttered open to stare into his blue ones. Even in the dark I could see his blush.

"…I didn't mean to wake you," he said quietly, glancing at the floor as if he did something bad.

"I wasn't asleep," I told him. You just made me wake up a little more. Open my eyes.

Peeta didn't say anything.

"…Don't be afraid, okay?"

He glanced at me with a curious, but guilty smile on his face. I didn't see what it became when I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him down to me.

This time, it lasted much longer. Tasted much sweeter. Felt much warmer.

Peeta sighed against my mouth, and the pressure of his made mine open. For a moment a wave of thrill rushed over my head, turning everything black before we had to pull away for air.

There was nothing to say for several minutes.

I could feel his breath on my lips, trying to calm down, but both of our heart rates just maxed out, and breathing calm wasn't really an option right then.

I was wide awake, but it was well past our bedtime. Feeling drugged and stupefied, I let my eyes slide over the rooms. The light blue flashing of the light above the food dispenser. The gold light peeking out of the crack in the bathroom door. The dark neglect of the bedroom.

I heaved myself up off the couch and stifled a groan. With curious eyes, Peeta watched as I stumbled over to the door. At the last second, I paused to look back. "Coming?"

He came.

Before getting in bed, I tugged the trousers I was wearing off, simply because they hadn't been washed since I first wore them. My shirt smelled bad, too, so I tossed that into the laundry chute, too. Part of me was squealing and red-faced because I was like that in front of Peeta, but the other part just laughed. You're still in your panties and undershirt, right? Nothing to see. Discussion over.

Avoiding meeting Peeta's eyes, I sat on the edge of the (wonderfully spongy) bed and crawled under the blankets.

After a second of laying there, I realized Peeta was still standing in the doorway.

"Are you going to stand there all night or come to bed?" I asked him, voice partially muffled by the fifty pillows stacked under my head.

He came, but with reluctance.

That was the first night we shared since the Quell in a real bed. In a real building, under real bedspreads.

When Peeta slipped under the covers with me, I turned over on my other side to face him and his awkward half-smile-half-unsure-grimace.

After several minutes, it was hard not to smile faintly at him. "Still afraid?"

He smiled, too, perfect and beautiful, even in the milky shadows of the room. "Petrified."

"Okay." I turned over again and pressed my back up against his chest, feeling Peeta's arms go around my waist and his lips on the back of my neck.

That is how we should be, how we should always be.

It was easy to fall asleep with him to catch me.

**oOo**

_I should probably apologize for making them sort of OOC at the end, but TO HELL WITH IT. We all needed a little bit of fluff. Personally, it was not 5% of what it should have been. If you know me, you know what kind of fluff I'd like to put in my stories, but I'm trying to keep this one's amount of OOC-ness minimal._

_But let me know if you don't mind some now and then. Because I will not hesitate going overboard._

_Thanks! Please review, guys! I'll make the next chapter SPEEDY-FAST if you dooo!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks a WHOOOOOOOLE bunch to my beautiful friends MLMockingjay and luckeeduck for helping me out! I owe you guys!_

_So sorry this took so long to get out. I had the worst writers block EVER. For like a week I actually considered not writing anymore. It was a bad week._

_But I'm back now! So enjoy!_

_(Explanation in the last A/N. I wrote the beginning a while ago)_

**oOo**

In my dream, I was back in the Quell. Peeta and I were laying on our backs, staring up at an inky black sky as the Capitol anthem played. Faces flashed across the sky. At first it was Finnick, and then Beetee. Prim was next, her pale face contorted with pain. More people came, people that didn't die in the Quell. Gale, Madge, the Avox girl.

The anthem rose to its crescendo and suddenly Peeta's face was up there, hovering in the sky. I snapped my head over to look at where he was laying just a second ago. He was no longer there.

"Peeta?" I asked, first curious and then frantically into the night air. "Peeta?"

The anthem died down, but the picture stayed up in the sky.

I stood, scrambling around, searching hastily for the boy who wasn't there. "_Peeta?_" I ran into the jungle, where night creatures chirped and hummed their nightly song. Taking only two steps in, I was suddenly at the force field. It dripped and curled and circles bloomed from it like the surface of water (unlike the usual, real-life field.) Directly in front of me, on the ground, was Peeta.

His eyes were closed, fingers folded on his midsection so peacefully he could have been sleeping.

I dropped to his side and put both hands on his chest. "…Peeta?"

_You did this, _hissed a sinister voice in my ear, like a snakes.

My eyes stung, and even in the dream I could feel my throat closing with oncoming tears. "No. No, never. I-I love…"

Peeta's lips were grey, his skin cold and clammy. No heartbeat fluttered under my fingers.

Saltwater began careening down my face.

_This is your fault, Fire Girl. _The hiss sounded vaguely familiar—I'd gotten used to only hearing it in a sort of arrogant laugh. Finnick. _I'm not there to save him this time._

I let out a wail, pulling my chin into my chest. As if it could stop the whispers. As if it would make Peeta come back.

Everything inside me was caving in, seeming to pull into itself. In the center of my chest, something squeezed like a fist, dragging me down, down…

_How could you do this, Katniss?_ Hissed a grotesque version of Prim's sweet little voice. _You've doomed him. He loved you, and you've killed him._

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the voices.

_You could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve him, sweetheart, _said Haymitch.

_And now he's dead._

Peeta?

_Just like that._

I touched his once-beautiful face with my fingertips and remembered what it looked like smiling. I remembered him laughing, wrapping his arms around my waist to hold me tight.

Tears fell faster, splattering across his face as I leaned our foreheads together. I could still feel his chest against mine as we curled together, could still hear his lips speaking soft words of comfort in my ear.

Howling—silent in my dream—echoed across the arena.

I buried my face in his shirt.

Peeta—

_Peeta—_

"Katniss,"

I pulled my face away from his cold, motionless body to cry some more, curling up on the spongy ground and closing my eyes.

"Katniss."

I woke crying. The pillow beneath my head was damp, the skin inside my cheeks were chewed raw. The taste of iron and salt were on my tongue. For a minute, I could do nothing except press my palms into the lids of my eyes and sob.

"Shh, Katniss… You're okay…" Peeta murmured against the skin of my neck, tightening his arms around me. "It was just a nightmare."

Wait—Peeta?

I let out a surprised hiccup and opened my eyes to find that yes, he was there. My back was pressed up against his front, both our arms crossed together at my waist, and he had his chin tucked over my shoulder. Our bodies were curled together in a sort of half-moon shape under the blankets, which were tangled around our legs. Upon checking, I was relieved to find that we still had clothes on, and were indeed in a real building and not back in the arena.

I found Peeta's hand and gripped it tight, attempting to calm my hiccups by pressing my face sideways into a pillow.

"Hey, Katniss," he whispered, giving me a small kiss on the nape of my neck, drawing his arms away from me. "I'm going to be right back, okay, love? Wait here."

Though I really wanted for him to not go anywhere, I did not voice my need. The bed felt cold and wrong in Peeta's absence, too big and empty. I forced myself to keep from having a panic attack after he got up. My heart still felt the ache of his death as if it had really happened, so raw and fresh on my mind. Not having him there at that moment didn't help either.

A minute later, Peeta came back. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, propping me up, and a glass of water was pressed into my hands.

I really did wake up crying too often…

Feeling slightly embarrassed and ashamed of myself, I took it and drank gratefully as Peeta settled down on the other side of the bed.

After draining the glass, it was set on the nightstand, and I hugged my knees to my chest. Part of me wanted to say something—anything—to Peeta, but I was discomforted. How gentle he was, taking care of me even though I try to take care of myself. Too selfless for his own good, but I didn't m—

Something occurred to me.

I glanced up at him with furrowed brows. "…Did I hear you call me 'love'?"

Peeta paused, blinked once, and then looked away from me. A red blush appeared faintly on his cheeks but he didn't say anything.

There was a long pause.

I picked at one of my nails, still avoiding his gaze. "…I don't mind."

"…No?"

"No." My eyes flicked nervously up to meet his and I gave a weak half-smile, crossing my arms around my middle. "It just surprised me. You don't seem like the kind of person to give out pet names."

Peeta wrinkled his nose. "Pet name? No… I'm sorry it was…it was unintentional. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

Somewhere in the back of my mind I reminded myself that Effie was to come sometime soon to take us to breakfast. It was in the _very_ back of my mind, though.

I wiped my nose. The dream was still fresh on my mind, and though I felt a little better there was still that squeezing in my stomach.

Both of my arms wrapped around Peeta's middle and I curled my head onto his chest, trying to convince myself he was alive after all. "…You're still afraid, aren't you?"

"What's there to be afraid about?" His laugh was bitter, sarcastic.

Heaving a tired, heavy sigh, I let go and drew away, swinging a leg off the side of the bed. "Never mind, Peeta." I was in no mood to play around about that. He was being absolutely impossible, and after a dream like that, it was _really_ not appreciated. "I'm going to take a shower."

Peeta looked disturbed, pausing for a second before answering, "…I should, too."

It was shameful.

In the shower, my mind ran as thick as honey. What if, what if what if, it kept saying. I wanted to slam my head against the wall.

About 10 minutes later I turned the water off, and wrapped myself up in a towel. The bed squeaked as I plopped down on it, trying to get all these stupid "what if"s out of my head.

Barely five seconds later I heard a soft knock on my door.

"Katniss, can I come in?" Peeta called softly. I smiled sadly to myself and almost said yes, when I remembered what I was wearing—that is to say, nothing.

"Just a minute," I told him, and got dressed in a hurry before opening the door for him.

"You know, Katniss, I think we need to talk." He dropped his gaze onto the floor nervously, an expression like guilt turning the corners of his mouth downwards.

I had been really dreading that. Every time he hinted wanting to talk I'd avoided it purposely, changing the subject of blatantly saying I didn't want to talk about it. It was slightly uncharacteristic of my to run away so much, to turn my back and pretend nothing was happening. I could keep my eyes closed forever.

"Okay." I slipped my hand into Peeta's and tugged him inside my room.

Ugh… What to talk about? Where to start? The reminder of what might have been my future still throbbed numbly in the pit of my abdomen.

After we sat back on the bed, I wrapped my arms around my knees and waited for him to speak.

It took a long time.

"…Katniss," Peeta started, taking a breath and rubbing his finger on his right temple. "I'm afraid there isn't a whole lot we can do at this point. They've got us cornered."

"There's still hope," I argued weakly. "District 8 is—"

"They're _obliterating_ District 8! Katniss, please understand," he begged, taking my face in his cupped fingers. "We have to play by the rules now. You know what they can make happen." One of his hands glided down to the inward curve of my stomach. "Even to the unborn. We can't risk our lives and the lives of our loved one any more than we already have."

"We can't just give up." I close my eyes an pressed my cheek into his palm, doing my utmost not to get upset. "I can't live here. District 12 is my _home_."

"There is no choice." Peeta, with a morose and desperate expression, took his hands away and scooted in front of me. "We're going to move here and forget the past. We have to put it behind us, because if we don't, and if we keep playing against the rules, it's not going to end well."

My eyes fell, since unable to look at him anymore. Remember that whole denial thing? That was _again_ my first instinct when Peeta told me we had to forget the past. However, instead of denying, I refused.

"I'm not letting the Capitol change me that much." I scowled, mouth pressed into a tight line. "I may have been poorer than dirt before, but at least I was _happy_ and Primrose was as safe as she could be. I can't forget the past."

"Then Snow will use it against you. Katniss, you have to accept," he tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him, "that this is our life now. Together, here, whether you like it or not."

"They can't take me from—from—" I felt my shoulders began to shake, droop, the weight pulling me into a hunched position. Sorrow pulled every atom in my body downwards, forcing tears from my eyes. "They can't take me away from home…"

"…I'm sorry."

My fingers found a pillow and I threw it as hard as I could against the wall. "_They can't change me!"_ A sob choked its way from my throat._ "_They can't take me…away…"

Peeta pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me as I wailed with frustration and grief. He held me tight—maybe too tight if it hadn't helped block the outside world. He kept whispering meaningless apologies, pressing his cheek to the side of my head and making fists on my back.

"We're safe though, Katniss…" he tried convincing me, cradling my head with his hand on the back of my neck. "Prim will be safe here, you don't have to worry…"

We both knew those statements were lies, but it helped nonetheless.

When my enraged sobs dwindled to hiccups, I waited a few more minutes before breathing. "You know…" I hiccupped loudly. "You know, w-we're getting married. He'll want us to…to have children. Live t-together."

Peeta let that hang for a dreadful second.

"…If it would make you happy, I'd give that up. I'd give it all up." He closed his eyes against my hair. "If you don't want children, Katniss, I w—"

"It's not about what I want."

That was true.

"It's about what Snow wants." I lifted my head up to wipe my wrists on my eyes. "But thank you. It's the thought that counts."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Peeta's mouth tightened into a hard line and he looked away from me.

Oops.

The way we were sitting, I was half-on his lap, both my legs curled next to him but torso directly in front.

I was able to reach over and touch his cheek. "I'm not dreading that part of the future, Peeta. Honestly. In fact, it may be one of the only things I look forward to."

Another second-pause and he met my eyes with a sarcastic sort of grimace. "For the record, I didn't plan on getting you pregnant. Announcing it during the interviews and what happened between us before we went in were two completely different things."

"I know," I said honestly, and leaned against his chest again, feeling his lips on the top of my head. "Good thing we have all the time in the world to get that right, huh?"

Even though I said that, it brought my mood even further down. Peeta must have sensed it because he wrapped his arms around me again, holding my head against his shoulder. While it was nice having him to lean up against, it did not keep out any of the dreading feelings from my gut.

"Do you think it would have been any better if things had been different, Peeta?" I said in a thick, breaking voice, pressing my cheek against the dip in his shoulder. "Do you think if I hadn't…stood up like that then things wouldn't be so terrible?"

"No. I don't think." His fingers subconsciously traced ridges in my lower spine. "You need to be with your family. Prim needs you. Your mother. Despite where we are now, things would have been worse if it didn't. What happened was…a lesser of two evils. You don't need to feel bad about it, Katniss. You did the right thing."

Though I seriously doubted it, part of me really wanted to believe it, wanted to believe more than anything, despite…everything. Because of that, I was more than grateful to the boy holding me in his arms right then.

From where my head rested on him, I tilted it forwards and pressed my lips gently on the side of his neck. "I think…I think I'm glad I had a miscarriage. That's a terrible thing to say, but I'm not fit to be a mother quite yet."

"What President Snow morphs your life into has nothing to do with your parental capabilities," Peeta reassured me, tucking a bit of hair behind my ear. "I, for one, would trust you one-hundred percent with children if we ever chose to have any."

"I'm pretty sure that if we _don't_ have any by the age of twenty-five, Snow's going to strip our clothing and lock us in a room until I get pregnant again." That was meant to be sarcasm, but it came out sadder than I meant for it to. "You said it yourself; we can't change anything now."

"…We don't have to talk about that right now."

"I know." I shifted my body slightly and titled my chin up to look at the ceiling. My face was still closed to Peeta's, and I took advantage of that closeness by turning to kiss the dip below his cheekbone.

The heartbeat I could feel in the side of Peeta's neck did a little jump, and he turned into the contact so his nose skimmed along my jawbone.

Just little touches like that sent flurries of different emotions flooding down my throat. There were the shivers of longing that were hard to ignore, the lumps of guilt that clogged my voice, the confusion, the sorrow for what could have been our future, the hatred towards Snow for putting all of those feelings with what I might have enjoyed.

In spite of my battling heart, I just shut my eyes and let him be close.

He brushed his mouth near the corner of my eye. "…I'm sorry I hurt you, Katniss."

"I hurt _myself_," I whispered, afraid to move in the chance he'd disappear. "You're not the one to blame."

"…But if I make it worse, would you tell me?" Peeta slid his lips lower, down my cheekbone. "If any of this makes you uncomfortable, just…let me know."

Not trusting myself to talk, I moved my head in a tiny, rigid nod and tried to breathe past the nervous passion building like a bomb inside of me.

The feeling just grew as he took my face in his hands and skimmed his thumb across my lower lip. Down in my bottommost rib something had opened, tugging me downwards, but I couldn't move to stop it. I couldn't even _breathe_.

Our faces were so close. Touching, even. They were touching. Peeta had his mouth below my ear and opened it to let out a ragged breath. The nervous panic that was building between us only held us closer together. It was all I could do not to ball up my fists and scream.

"Are you sure you're okay with me doing this?" Peeta whispered again, cupping his hand around my neck and pressing his lips to my jaw.

Was I okay with it?

Wetness had already been in my eyes, but it turned to tears not a moment before he asked me that. I reached up with my arms and put them around him, curling into his soft touch, but still unable to open my eyes. "You're not the only one who's afraid, Peeta. I'm so lost, I…I need this. Don't worry about me."

"I always worry," he tried to say, but I turned to block his words by pressing our mouths together.

Briefly.

Too short of time, I wished it could last forever.

But I pulled away and only just barely kissed the corner of his mouth before sliding off the bed. "Effie probably hates us by now. We should go and apologize."

We were both showered and dressed; there was no more excuse for procrastinating.

I took Peeta's hand in mine and refused to let go as we sulked out of my quarters.

Feelings were knotting themselves in my head. I wanted to address all of them, scream until my throat bled, pound my fists and break something valuable and fall onto my knees.

It was President Snow's fault all of this happened. His fault I got reaped, his fault I fell in love with Peeta, his fault we got reaped together, his fault I got pregnant, had a miscarriage, he _knew_ this would happen. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to see his blood seep into the ground at my feet. Sometimes I wondered if things really _would_ have been better if Prim had never been reaped in the first place.

My mind loved to argue that I wouldn't have Peeta.

I couldn't be selfish. Hell, he'd be better off without me anyways. I didn't need him before. It was Snow's doing that made me _weak_. Don't get me wrong, I loved Peeta and I would do anything to protect him, but he'd be better off without me screwing up his chances at a future.

I should have just killed myself in the arena when I had the chance.

With the help of some Avoxes, Peeta and I found where breakfast was being held.

No one was glad to see us.

Haymitch was drunker than anything, white knuckles clasped around a tall glass of liquor, eyes trained on his plate of untouched eggs.

Effie was babbling on to him, obviously livid, taking her anger for us out on him. She screeched about the schedule and about his unwillingness to do anything and about how many interviews and appointments we missed by taking yesterday off.

The second we stepped into the room, four pairs of eyes trained on us (including the serving Avoxes.)

Effie's heavily made-up eyes narrowed with malice. "You two have a lot of explaining to do," she snapped, standing up and abandoning her breakfast. "I went to retrieve you _eight times_ yesterday, but the doors were locked. You didn't answer. You missed a hair appointment, FOUR INTERVIEWS, your doctor's trip, a dinner with the officials and a meeting afterwards."

She practically hissed. "You'd better have a pretty good explanation."

I couldn't bring myself to say anything. My head hung, but I found my eyes trained on Haymitch, who looked close to murderous.

Peeta saved me. He put his arm around me protectively and said in a hoarse voice, "Effie, there are times to save your lectures for better moments, and this is one of them. You of all people should know that Katniss just had a horrifying experience and needed a day to recover."

Effie bristled. "Just because your stupidity cause a little pain, th—"

"A LITTLE PAIN!" I screamed, flinging my body away from Peeta and stepping so close to Effie I could smell her disgusting designer perfume. My face grew red and hot and my voice grew shrill enough to shatter glass. "A LITTLE PAIN? I had a MISCARRIAGE, and if you _freaks_ think that a hair appointment is more important than saving a life, then you need to get your priorities straightened out."

Tears were—yet again—falling from my eyes, tears of rage, of hatred, pain.

I balled my hands into fists. "I don't care about dinners or meetings or interviews, Effie. I am not a whiteboard, ready to be erased and made up fifty times a day. I am not a doll ready for dress-up. I am not a superstar, I am not your pawn, I am not just a piece of your _goddamn Games._"

Effie's eyebrows arched, but I didn't give her a chance to speak.

"I am a human girl from District 12, and I am not putting up with your crap." I grabbed Peeta's hand and tugged him over to the table, where I sat down. "The only thing I want is to go home. It's your fault this ever happened in the first place. So don't complain."

There was a shocked silence.

Effie had her mouth hanging open wide, eyes bulging out. The words "_How dare she,_" could be felt practically seeping from her pores. She took a sharp breath, about to say something, but Haymitch interrupted her.

"Just drop it," he grumbled, taking a swig of alcohol. "They obviously know what they're doing. It's their own fault if they get killed."

If looks could kill, we'd all be dead a thousand times over.

Effie took in another breath and sat down again, teeth gritted. She looked over at Haymitch in revulsion, at the glass in his hand. She watched him take a swig, let out a groan, and then she glared up at one of the Avoxes. "Get me a glass of whatever he's having. I'm going to need a lot to get through these next few weeks."

**oOo**

_Okay. Explanation._

_I'm quitting._

_Within a period of thirty minute—several weeks ago, actually—I lost interest in the Hunger Games. Believe me or don't believe me, but it's true. I had to force myself to write the last three pages of this, with the help of a lot of threats, encouragement and peanut butter._

_You may think this is a phase, but how I know I'm over it is one of my friends texted me yesterday. She said that she got a life-size cutout of Peeta. I wasn't jealous._

_This is how the world works, all good things must come to an end, I was expecting it sooner or later._

_After three long years of my life, this period has finally come to an end._

_Don't be upset at me._

_I might pick it up again in a few months. Maybe not. I'll still be writing my other stories, with hope. I'm not giving up writing completely._

_Anyways, until further notice, you won't be getting any more Hunger Games fanfictions out of me. It was painful enough writing this._

_Forgive me, but keep this close in your mind._

_I'll never forget any one of you._

_~~TheSoggyBug_


	10. Chapter 10

_There really is nothing to say. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who hadn't given up on me, and to my lovely friends Addie and Katy for encouraging me and helping edit!_

_Read now, people. The time has come._

**oOo**

President Snow gave Peeta and I leave to visit District 12 before packing up for the Capitol again. It felt like he was laughing at us. "_Here, I'll show you exactly what I'm not going to let you have and keep you home just long enough to want to kill yourself when I make you leave it. This'll be fun!" _There was a deep pain in my gut that had nothing to do with my recent miscarriage. It felt like solid dread, as heavy as concrete.

Peeta noticed and felt the same way. There was nothing we could do but wait until the day we were to go back home. I let him into my bed every night up until then, just to hold onto the last precious moments of false solitude. He held me tight and hushed away my nightmares in the middle of the night and kept me eating. There was only so much he could do, though.

The morning of our leave I woke, remnants of the previous nights' bad dream echoing inside my head. Peeta was already up, of course, and he pressed his face close to mine when he noticed my eyes open.

"You ready?" he asked in a slightly fearful, hoarse whisper.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I slipped through his arms to stand, and then shuffled across the room to rummage for some relatively normal-looking clothes.

I ended up changing into a pair of tan trousers and a big, frumpy black sweater to cover up the sadness weighing my shoulders down. I dressed right in front of Peeta, past the point of caring, and huddled in a chair in the corner while he changed in the bathroom.

"Effie should be here in a minute, Katniss," he said in a gentle, kind voice when he got out.

I wanted to ignore him, to close my eyes and pretend that Effie really wasn't going to be there. In fact, I attempted at doing that very thing.

"Katniss." Peeta wasn't having it.

I gave up, but didn't accept his outstretched hand. I'd probably crush his fingers; nerves and terror and anxiety were pulsing through my veins in the place of blood. It made me twitchy and high-strung and unable to touch anyone without wanting to bellow.

A piece of toast was managed to be forced down my throat by Peeta before Effie came in (our lock had been confiscated). Though slightly less angry at us, she was still stiff and disappointed at us.

"Come," our escort said in a curt voice. "Your hovercraft is ready."

Nervously, we both shuffled after her until getting to a platform off the side of the building we were in. Sitting atop was, obviously, the small hovercraft that would take us home. Without even waiting to see us into it, Effie left, putting an Avox in charge of us.

The mute servant directed us around to the other side and opened the side of the craft for us to crawl in. Much to mine and Peeta's surprise, though, one of the four seats was already occupied.

Haymitch sat hunched in it, holding a bottle of alcohol (of course), avoiding our gazes completely.

"So you're coming home with us?" Peeta asked, attempting to keep the spite out of his voice, as we crawled into our seats. "Effie didn't want to see your face any more either?"

"She's taking a separate hovercraft," he said, voice completely emotionless, and took a swig—all while still not looking at us.

"How long is she staying?"

Haymitch didn't answer.

"_Where_ is she staying?"

Still, no answer.

"Is she even staying?"

"Look, _kid_," Haymitch's bloodshot eyes swiveled over to Peeta, "I don't bury myself in other people's affairs. If you want to know so badly, ask her yourself. Personally, I don't blame her for being pissed off at your two."

"Says the person who's been too drunk to come out of your room ninety percent of your _life_," I spat in disgust, crossing my arms heatedly. "Don't you remember your advice to us in our first Games? Don't you? 'Stay alive' you told us. Well, here we are," I glanced around, and then sneered at him. "Looks like your advice backfired. Hoping we'd die after all?"

"It isn't like that, Katniss," his eyes turned on me and he licked his lips nervously. It was obvious he was still angry, but a new emotion glazed over that. "It isn't—"

"Don't tell me it isn't." Rage was building inside my gut. It was hard to control, bubbling up behind my throat and wanting to burst out in a waterfall of foul words. I swallowed and tried breathing before speaking again. "Don't tell me that it isn't like that. Don't think we're too stupid to see it, Haymitch. You can't tell us to do our best and then decide to hate us when we come back alive."

He fumed.

"What about Maysilee?" Before, I'd promised myself I'd never bring her up, but I couldn't help myself. "Are you glad _she_ died?"

"Don't talk about Maysilee!" Haymitch stood and flung the bottle out of his hands, sending alcohol and glass shattering across the floor. "It was different with her! Before _you two_ it was just a game." He pointed a shaky finger at me and Peeta. "Before _you_ _two_ there weren't terrible consequences. Maysilee would have lived in luxury, never having to worry about anything ever again."

"Is that what you call it?" I stood, too, balling my hands into fists. "Luxury?"

"Katniss," Peeta warned, putting his hand on my arm.

"Look, _Haymitch," _I reconciled, taking a moment to calm myself a little. "We understood the consequences. If being able to escape with Maysilee was an option, would you have?"

Silence.

"Look at it from our point of view," I pleaded, "and try not to hate us. You would have done the same—"

"Think about someone other than yourselves, for God's sake!" Letting out an enraged yell, Haymitch stomped across the section of the hovercraft and threw open the door to the bathroom. "I've lost too many people to the Capitol. You would have been better off dead than what you're expecting when you get home."

With that, he stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

The rest of the hovercraft ride was uncomfortable. The craft was smaller than the ones we were used to, with only the cockpit, a tiny cab with only 4 seats, and a restroom. Peeta and I stayed seated for the trip, and after Haymitch's little explosion, I'd let him take my hand in his.

Despite my stubbornness about the subject, I understood then why our mentor was so utterly upset about the stunt we pulled off. He'd lost his family, friends and only love interest to the Capitol. Though it would take an eternity forcing him to admit, Peeta and I were the first people he cared about in a long time, and he would rather see us safely buried in a coffin than subjected to the twisted ideas of President Snow after we defied him.

I put my head on Peeta's shoulder and pretended to sleep while the thought of that soaked in enough to make me miserable. I haven't realized I really _had_ fallen sleep until he shook my shoulder.

"Come on, Katniss. Wake up," Peeta said gently. "We're here."

Craning my stiff neck, I awoke and looked out the window to see mountains. Forests sloped out and around valleys, and there nestled in a large dip in the range sat out little town of District 12.

It was involuntary, the little skip of my heart and the flood of happiness in my mouth that tasted like iron. Then I realized we were doomed, and my face fell again.

A burst of static sounded over the speaker and the pilot announced landing shortly. We buckled ourselves in and sat quietly as the landing propellers whirred into action. The craft began losing altitude slowly and dropped into the Town Square.

Familiar buildings stood around us, along with people I knew crowding around our landing sight, whispering to each other in excitement. Part of me wanted to cry out in anticipation; the other part just wanted to cry.

"Easy now," Peeta told me quietly, taking my hand and standing as the hovercraft door slid open.

I tried to be strong, to hold my head high as the ear-splitting cheers of my district cut through the town. Faces—some familiar, some not—craned towards me and Peeta, streaked with tears and yelling. Arms reached out and tried to grab us, and I heard words. Words of relief, shock, warning, pride. Once I head someone whisper "_forgive us,_" but heard it as though it was louder than screams.

I turned to see a coal miner, face smeared with black dust and saltwater, but he was looking at me as though he did something terrible and begged for me to pardon his wrongdoing.

For a second, I stared at that man, but it was a second too long. Something unknown shook my knees and I would have collapsed if Peeta hadn't been there to pull me back upright.

"Just a little farther, Katniss," he said in my ear, and put his arms around my waist for support.

Guards on either side of us plowed a path through the crowd to pass through, and I did so blindly. My head remained hung my eyes were glued to the ground as we shuffled down the road. Though it was not known, I did not bother to look back to see what had become of Effie's Hovercraft or Haymitch.

Seconds turned to minutes which turned to hours—or so it seemed. Between one moment and the next, I was vaguely aware of the crowds—or lack thereof. All of the hordes of people that had been following us were gone, and the absence of people made me turn my gaze upwards.

We'd gotten to the Victor's Village. Everyone that had been following us now hung at the perimeter, silent, letting me, Peeta and the guards step into the semicircle of land surrounded by the Victors houses.

Over at Peeta's house we saw his mother and his father. I could have sworn he had more brothers than that, but I didn't care because I looked over at my own house. Mother and Prim were standing on the porch, holding each other.

I let go of Peeta and began running with energy I didn't think I had to my family. They took me in their arms and let me hug the life out of them, crying and telling them I loved them because I thought I wouldn't live to see them again. When the waterworks finally drizzled to a stop and let my lungs refill themselves, I let go of them and cade an attempt at calming myself down.

"Come on, dear, let's get you inside," Mother said, putting her arm around her shoulder and leading me through the open door into our house. I didn't even look back to see Peeta.

Prim went into the kitchen to start water for tea while I was guided to the couch.

I had missed them more than anything, but I was so drained. After focusing on not getting myself killed for so long, it was nearly unfathomable sitting around the coffee table at home sipping tea that Primrose made. The relief, however, was choked out by dread. They were being kind not asking questions or bringing up the topic of moving to the Capitol. The normality wouldn't last long…

Letting out a sigh and a hiccup, I rolled my head over onto Mother's shoulders and closed my eyes. If it wasn't for the complete sense of fantasy, it would have been the best day of my life, but it wasn't. Haymitch's words kept repeating themselves in my mind. I'd doomed Peeta. I'd doomed my family. I'd doomed everyone I ever cared about. We only got a week before we're forced to become Capitol citizens.

A recollection hit me so fast and sudden I nearly doubled over, squeezing a moan out of my lips. It was not a memory from long ago; in fact, it was just a few days ago, but the second I remembered it, guilt and horror clawed viciously at my chest.

_They don't know about my miscarriage._ More like, they didn't know what I'd "pretended" was actually reality.

If they knew…if they found out…

I stood up, forcing myself not to break down.

My mother stood with me and put one of her hands on my arm. Her face was creased with worry. "Is everything alright, dear?"

Is everything alright?! Did she really just ask that?

How could I face my family with the guilt of a thousand sins dragging my shoulders down? Just as I had with Peeta, I'd doomed them, too. Primrose, my darling little sister, the only person I was certain I loved. My mother, the one who had healed and helped so many people but cannot even shield herself from what was going to happen.

How could I face my family when I knew I was killing them?

"I-I'm sorry," I managed to choke out, and before they could say anything else, I turned and fled from the house.

There were eyes everywhere. Peeping from shop windows and behind trees and through cracks in doors, watching me. If I hadn't been focusing completely on not having a complete breakdown, I would have yelled at them to go away or done _something_. Instead, I found my feet carrying me to the only person I really wanted to see.

It wasn't as if I had hurt him less than I'd hurt my family. It wasn't as if the news of my miscarriage wouldn't be more terrifying to him than my family. It wasn't as if he was safer than my family. He was just the only one left from my old life that was able to hold me up during these times, one of the only ones who had enough strength for the both of us.

I walked numbly all the way across District 12 to the other side overlooking the Meadow. Weeds and grasses grew past my waist, tangling with itself in the breeze, sending the familiar scent of wood smoke and rain and forest smells wafting over me. My feet carried me all the way to the doorstep of a run-down cabin nestled near the woods.

Smoke curled from the chimney, but no flowers grew in the flowerbeds and there wasn't the usual sound of arguing little siblings in the background.

It was a Sunday; Gale should be home.

Only hesitating a second, I reached up and knocked twice.

Hazelle answered, but she didn't look like the woman I'd last seen a few weeks ago. Her hair was greasy and ragged, blue bags hung from either of her flat grey eyes and there was a hunch to her shoulders I'd only recognized from years and years ago after my mother lost my father.

Dread was slowly filling my gut like water.

"Katniss," Hazelle whispered, but she didn't look happy to see me. In fact, she looked sadder. Her eyes searched my face with a sorrowful look. After shaking her head gently and casting a frightened glance behind me, she said, "You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" I insisted, swallowing the painful lump of fear in my throat. "Where's Gale?" I tried looking around her, but she began closing the door. "Hazelle, _please_."

It was unintentional, but the last word came out as a sob and I felt my eyes stinging with the tears that I'd wanted to shed for a while now.

A second of reluctance, and then Ms. Hawthorne opened the door for me and let me in.

The house was desolate and dusty. Grief hung like ropes from the ceiling, so substantial I could taste it on my tongue. In the living room, little Posy was sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at a fuzz on the arm. When she saw me, she burst into tears and ran from the room.

The only thing I could think was, _Oh no_.

We stopped in the kitchen and I wasn't offered any tea. Hazelle and I sat opposite each other at the table, and for the longest time, neither of us said anything.

I knew what had happened.

My lips dried up and stuck together, not allowing speech, and my thoughts were only of one thing. They echoed as if my whole head was vacant except for that.

Gale was gone, and it was my fault.

Earlier that day when the coal miner had stopped me… _"Forgive us,"_ he'd said.

It all made sense.

Hazelle was looking at me again with that expression: terror, sorrow, a little bit of blame. But of course. How could _she_ stand the sight of me as well? I killed her son. I killed Gale.

_I killed Gale_.

I put my head in my hands. There wasn't anything I could say. "Sorry" wouldn't even graze what I felt. The only person who could understand, my best friend, my partner, my _Gale_. I'd killed him and there was no coming back.

"There was a small drought," Hazelle said with a cracking voice after a long period of silence.

I removed my hands from my face to look up at her, eyes streaming with self-hatred and remorse.

"Two fires in two weeks: one at the bakery and one in the Seam."

Automatically, my mind was working to put the pieces together. _They needed to punish me and Peeta. They killed Gale, okay, and—_ The fire at the bakery. I thought Peeta had more brothers than I'd seen. It took one of his brothers.

"Greasy Sae and her granddaughter." Hazelle let out a little sob and sucked in a deep breath. "Not three days later, there was an accident at the mine. A beam collapsed and killed four miners."

It killed Gale. Of course.

Without waiting, I got up from the kitchen and burst through the back door into the field, but I only managed to stumble a good fifty feet before falling to my knees on the dirt.

A wail ripped from my lungs. It sounded like a hurricane, a thousand wrong decisions, lives shattered and dismantled. It sounded terrified and terrifying, so broken and ruined, and it had come from _me_. All of the pain came rushing at once.

It was a stream of panic.

It was the sound of an upturned world.

I wasn't sure how long I lay there in the Meadow. An hour. Maybe two. Maybe three. It felt as though the weeds grew into and through me, holding me down on the ground. It took a lot of energy just to stand up and dry my eyes.

The walk back home had always been the same distance across town, but that time it seemed twice as long. I passed the Hawthorne's house without glancing sideways at it, and that was a good thing. If I had, I would have seen three pair of sad eyes watching me from the window.

It didn't matter what time it was when I finally shuffled into the semicircle of huge Victor's houses. Without even bothering to check where my two family members were, I traveled past the living room and kitchen and up the stairs to my room.

Ever since I cried myself dry in the Meadow, all there was left in me was fatigue. I had no energy to feel the guilt and heartache that had ridden me. I was just…empty.

Curled up under the covers, all I could think of was how to protect my mother and sister from what I'd failed to protect the others from. Feeling lost and in pain, I let myself fade into unconsciousness.

The nightmares were—to put it lightly—absolutely terrifying. They were the kind that froze me stiff, unable to scream, but wanting to rip the visions right out of my skull with my own fingernails. I woke in the night with the smell of blood and flesh in my nose and couldn't even move for a few minutes. My heart was beating violently in my throat and wrists.

I considered briefly calling for Mother and Prim. They'd come in and give me some reassuring words and warm milk, but they couldn't comfort me. They didn't know, they didn't _understand_. No matter how much I loved the both of them, they were only there for me to protect. That's all.

Sucking in tears, I swung my legs off the edge of the bed and stood, trembling like a leaf.

The house felt too empty, I felt too alone. Mother's bedroom door was shut tight, as was Prim's. They were probably sleeping soundly, night unmarred by any sort of bad dreams.

I found myself drifting down the hallway and out the front door.

Freezing night air bit me. Though it was barely autumn, it felt like cold knives slicing through my gown into my skin, sending shivers right down to the bone. It cleared my mind, but the images wouldn't leave; Prim strung up on a pillar wearing a swathe of blood like a bib; Gale laying, broken and bloody, at the bottom of a mine, lifeless eyes staring up at an endless coal sky; Ravenous mutations after a fresh kill; Fire and President Snow and _death_. So much death.

Using the dim light of the moon, I stumbled across the grass, still struggling with the tears and fright gripping my chest. The lights in Peeta's house were off, but his door was unlocked, so I let myself in.

It was even darker inside than it was out. I hugged my arms to my chest, shivering, all the way up the stairs.

I shouldn't be there. It was so wrong, all sorts of wrong. Why should I want Peeta after I'd learned about Gale's death? After I'd _caused_ Gale's death. I shouldn't be there, but Peeta was all I had left. The only person who knew what true terror was, the only person who knew how I felt and who would always be there, who could comfort me and give me strength.

His room was the first on the right when you went upstairs. The door to his room was closed, but unlocked. After knocking twice, I pushed it open.

It was dark and warm in there. Faint light came in from the bathroom, making me able to just barely see the shape of Peeta, stretched out in his bed. Apparently he hadn't heard me knock because when I walked in he remained sleeping.

Without waiting, I walked across the room and crawled up onto the bed.

Peeta woke with a start and let out a muffled grunt before peeling his eyes open to look at me.

"Katniss…" he said, trying to blink sleep from his eyes while sitting up. "Are you okay?"

I drank in his wavy blond hair and tired blue eyes and wrinkled pajamas and burst out in tears. It felt childish but I couldn't stop the flood of emotion that had returned with a vengeance.

_He lost someone, too_, I reminded myself. He knows how badly this hurt us all.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta," I said yet again, but that time, it felt more real than anything I'd ever said. I took both of his hands and clung onto them tightly. "This is all my fault. I didn't mean to hurt everyone like this." My words broke and more tears spilt.

Peeta, as usual, was gentle and understanding. "Don't blame yourself, Katniss," he murmured sleepily, leaning his head against the wall. "You've done all you could."

"You don't understand." The tone of my voice made him open his eyes again and look at me. I held his gaze firmly with my own, though it was a little blurred by tears. "I _killed_ people. Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. Your brother. Gale."

That woke him up. I saw something stir in Peeta's eyes. They shone with grief, probably mourning the loss of his brother. It was hard to tell what he thought about Gale's death though… Strangely, I saw no joy in his expression.

In a soft, broken voice, Peeta held his arms out to me and said, "Come here." His embrace wrapped me up and he folded me onto the pillows next to him.

Silent tears fell into my hair, and I had a feeling that he needed this visit just as much as I did.

For a few minutes we did nothing but hold each other there in the darkness. It felt crooked, somehow, to seek comfort from Gale's death in Peeta's arms, but he was all that I had left.

After a while pulled away.

Peeta brushed the hair away from my face with a soft hand. "…Did you have a nightmare?"

Remembering it sent a shudder of terror through me again, but I said nothing.

"…Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head and brought his hands away from my face. "I just needed to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

Peeta watched me in confusion as I got up and took a few steps backwards. He was about to say something but I had to leave before I started crying again.

It felt too wrong. Gale's death was still fresh in my mind, and every time I looked at Peeta I'd remember Gale. I remembered his dark hair, his quiet footsteps in the woods. I could still feel his careful hand on my back, the look in his stormy gray eyes he only got only when he was hunting. Those words he spoke to me, but I never spoke back.

He told me he loved me and I blew him off.

The memory of our last feelings for each other left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I'll never see him again, I'll never be able to feel his arms around me or to see him roll his eyes at my obstinacy. I'll never…I'll never…

Down in Peeta's living room, I sat on his sofa and wrapped myself up in one of the throws.

My whole world was getting torn apart. People were getting killed because of me—_directly_ because of me. In a week I'd be moving to the Capitol and would be forced to start a new life. I'd marry Peeta.

It wasn't exactly the idea of marriage that repulsed me so much; it was the idea of _mandatory _marriage.

Yet again, memories took me over.

It was the day before we entered the Quarter Quell.

I could still feel skin against skin, his fingers in my hair, our bruised lips pressed together.

I'd thought it was a moment of stupidity and recklessness, and maybe it was. Maybe it _was_ stupid, but I knew that I needed Peeta like I needed air to breathe, not just for the physical pleasure (though I hadn't let myself feel much of that) but because he was the only person in the world who understood me. Peeta was the only one who could comfort me when I had nightmares because he had the same nightmares. Peeta was the only one I could get real empathy from because he was the only one who really _knew_ what I was going through.

He was my partner, and we were stuck in this vortex of hell for better or for worse.

What if he _had_ died when he hit the force field? I probably would have won and went on to live my life in luxury and…and I'd have nightmares every night but would have no one to hold me after them. I'd be scarred irreparably, I'd shut away inside myself. I'd lose the will to live.

I was lucky to have him always by my side, no matter how many times I broke his heart.

It did not matter that I sought solace in Peeta's arms after a death of a friend, because he meant so much more to me than that.

Peeta was my best friend, my lover, my shoulder to cry on, my level head, my piece of good advice, my everything. He was everything and whatever I needed him to be.

My mind was already made up.

Peeta was asleep again when I got back up to his room. His lights were out and his back was turned towards the door. I crept across the shadowy floor to the four-poster bed and slipped under the covers.

Peeta shifted, but I hushed him gently and curled up on the pillows next to him, my cheek pressed against his shoulder. Not ready for the challenges lying ahead of me, I fell asleep, memories of my dead friends taunting me inside my head.


	11. Chapter 11

_To one of my best friends, Lilia, for giving me the encouragement to type this chapter._

_You all are wonderful! Sorry my writing isn't what it used to be._

**oOo**

That night—even after going to Peeta's—I had too many nightmares to count. By the time it was morning, I'd already been up for a while. The images of Gale's broken and bloody body allowed me no sleep.

I rolled my head onto my shoulder to look over at Peeta. Of course, he was sound asleep, snoring. Every time I'd woken up he'd woken up with me, whispering comforting words into my ear and holding me until one of us drifted off again. He got very little sleep, as did I, so I didn't blame him for being out that hard.

As careful as I could, I wriggled from his arms and dragged myself into the bathroom. The person in the mirror was terrifying—to terrifying to look at, so as soon as I was done doing my business, I left, arms clenched tight over my chest and scraggly hair hanging from my face.

Peeta woke when I got back into bed.

His arms wrapped involuntarily around my waist. "…G'Morning…" His voice was muffled by the pillow pressed against his face.

I didn't say anything.

"…Are you feeling better?"

Still, silence.

"Katniss?" Peeta turned his head from the pillow so he could see my face. I hated how his eyes were so beautiful and blue

When I remained quiet, he scooted a little closer to me and touched his lips to my forehead. Such expression of affection churned guilt inside of me.

Fighting off yet another emotional breakdown, I tossed the covers off of me, stood again, crossed my arms and shivered. The tremor came from deep inside of me and shook my bones.

"…I need to go back to my house to change," I said after a long while. My throat was hoarse from hours of crying, and it hurt more than I'd realized. I looked back at Peeta, who was still in bed, and blinked at him. "…You coming?"

After getting up and briefly changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom, Peeta accepted the offer and took my hand.

I hated going outside in the daytime. The fresh air that smelled like the forest, brilliant cloudless skies, chirping birds. It was as if the world was mocking me. _Oh hey, you killed someone you loved? Let me do everything I can to remind you of him! _ It made me want to punch something, or scream, or die. Or all three.

The sooner I got inside the better, so I dragged Peeta hastily into my house and shut the door behind us.

There was a light in the kitchen. Faint sizzling noises were coming from it but we did not stop and investigate. I marched us upstairs and into my room.

It was messy, to say in the least. The night before, after coming home from the Hawthorn's, I'd had a fit and thrown some stuff around before collapsing into a restless heap on my bed.

When Peeta and I came in, the nightstand was upturned, clothes were strewn everywhere, and a lamp was shattered in the corner. Thankfully, Peeta had the good grace to not say anything about it when I sulked into the bathroom.

Under the stream of bitter shower water, my mind was grudgingly at work.

It was Monday, and on Saturday we were to pack up our things and leave for good. Say goodbye to my district, goodbye to the dark woods that helped feed my family for years, goodbye old friends and neighbors whose faces I'll never forget. I'd grown up there. It was home.

Soon, I'd be a Capitol citizen. Peeta and I were going to get married and…have children?

It was awful, but my miscarriage was still hurting me between my legs and inside of me, and it just reminded me more of what might have happened. Now we were almost guaranteed to be forced to have children, but it wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same. It broke me so much on the inside. I felt so…_shattered._

I got out of the shower with a towel wrapped around me and basically ignored Peeta and I rummaged through the wardrobe. Nothing seemed particularly inviting, so I just grabbed a cotton shirt and trousers and yanked them on.

When I was done and looked up at Peeta, he was gazing down at me with an expression like sadness. Without saying anything, he opened his arms and I let myself be folded into them.

Peeta smelled as he usually did; lemon soap and dill and clean clothes. He held onto me tightly, desperate for some semblance of stability and comfort.

It was unintentional, my hands lingering on my stomach when he pulled away.

"…Is there anything I can do?" Peeta asked after a period of silence.

I shook my head.

"...I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain."

That surprised me, but I saw he was gazing sadly down at my stomach—where my hands were—and I understood.

He didn't get it. Maybe, before, I would have blamed him. I'd have gotten angry and maybe yelled and blamed him, but I couldn't keep on being so immature. Peeta was not to be blamed for anything (except my pregnancy, but that was different). He was helping me, being my hand to hold and comfort from my nightmares and my literal shoulder to cry on. He had stopped me from having _more_ pain.

Without really meaning to, I reached up and kissed him—but didn't pull away.

Peeta's hands were gentle on my face before I drew back and said, "The only pain you cause makes me stronger, and without that strength I'd give up completely."

Though he obviously didn't expect that certain response, Peeta accepted it graciously. "So…" His tone was careful. "Are you going to go have breakfast with your family?"

I nodded. "Are you with yours?"

His expression changed reluctant and ashamed. "Ever since my brother… Well, ever since we came back, they've been…less than welcome towards me. The business isn't doing too well and they blame me for my brother's death and…you know."

Things grew silent.

"I'm sorry," I said after a pause, feeling a little hot lump of remorse burning in the back of my throat. "If I could take everything back I would. Everyone's lives have been upturned by me. Since Greasy Sae died, Seam people are probably growing hungrier, and your brother, and…and Gale…"

There was that pain again, deep in my heart that choked my tongue and burned my chest, the pain that would never go away. It stung saltwater in my eyes, though I didn't want it to.

To my surprise, Peeta risked my reaction and drew me close again and pressed his lips to my forehead, just holding me.

I thought of that night before the Quell and I wasn't sure if I wanted to peel the memory right out of my brain with my fingernails, or repeat it.

"Be strong, okay?" Peeta curled his hand around my neck and brushed back a bit of my hair with his thumb. "We'll get through it. We always do."

_This isn't something we can just "get through,"_ I wanted to say, but didn't. He brought his hand from my face and gently wound our fingers together. Like that, we left my room to go downstairs for breakfast.

Apparently, Mother and Primrose didn't hear us when we first came in, because they were surprised when Peeta and I walked into the kitchen, holding hands and dragging our feet. Seeing as how I vanished from my room in the middle of the night, I half-expected my mother to ask me where I'd gone, how I was doing, all that stuff, but I was wrong.

She pulled me into a tight embrace, kissed both my cheeks, and did the same to Peeta. Then she motioned for us to sit while she readied heaping bowls of porridge and plates of bacon for us.

Primrose sat opposite me, and her expression was clear. They both wanted terribly to burst out in questions but they were afraid of my reaction. They wanted me to start the conversation.

Fat chance.

After accepting breakfast from Mother with a tight "thanks," I busied myself with eating. All the meanwhile, stares from my family felt like they jabbed into my forehead.

After a long while, Peeta decided he needed to be polite and say something, so he cleared his throat.

"So, um… How have you two been doing? Peeta asked Mother and Prim.

Mother folded her hands on the table. "Times are getting hard here for people. More and more people are starving to death. For the past couple of weeks, Prim and I've been trying to help as much as possible, but it only goes so far. I think what's really been holding them up is the Games, you two."

I stirred my half-eaten breakfast and felt bitterness creep into my throat. "Well, the show's pretty much over, isn't it?"

As if in warning, Peeta put his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.

"I'm being honest. If these people are seriously only alive because I…I…" My tongue couldn't form the words properly, so I swallowed them. "Well, they should stop holding their breath. Their little mascot is defeated. We're off to the Capitol Saturday and…and…"

A sudden lump of rage swelled so quick in my lungs I had no time to react before it burst. I stood, sending my chair flying backwards.

"_Why do they do this?!" _I screamed, kicking my down chair and ripping at my hair furiously as tears fell from my lashes. "Tear us by our roots, remake our lives out of lies. _I'm sick of lying!"_

"Katniss." With a look like fear in his eyes, Peeta stood and held his hands out, cautioning me. "Be careful."

_"I'm sick of being careful._" I ignored him and my family and paced back and forth in the kitchen, pulling at my hair. "I don't want to have to watch every little step I take, making sure they approve. I'm done with this, I'm done with lying. I'm done with everything."

Saltwater streamed from my eyes as I stood, frozen, hunched and defeated in the kitchen. Peeta was frozen a few feet away, looking sorrowful, but neither of the girls in my family had the good grace to stay put.

Mother let out a choked sob and stood. Her arms went around me even though I remained stationary.

"Oh, Katniss, I'm so sorry you're going through this…" she crooned, smoothing her hand down my back. "You're so strong… I know you'll get through this."

I resisted the urge to push her away and scream. Another explosion was building in my chest, but it remained right behind my tongue. That is, until my mother spoke again.

"…I've never liked any of it, dear, but as a mother, it really hurt when they made up the story about your pregnancy. It f—"

A bellow ripped out of my chest, slicing the wound fresh again, and I tore away from her embrace.

The hurt came back as wild as before, pressing my lungs until I couldn't breathe, clenching my eyes until I couldn't see, stabbing my heart until I was incapable of holding anything in any longer.

"_I've killed so many people," _I sobbed, dropping onto my knees and clutching my arms. "The whole thing was a mistake, I didn't know. _I couldn't know_. It was my fault."

Terrible sounds came from my throat, wailing, crying, and my nails dug into my stomach. "He was never meant to be, but he was _and I killed him. _"It could have been my future."

"Katniss, stop," Peeta cut in sharply, and I looked up through streaming eyes to see his agonized, tearful expression. His fists were clenched at his sides. "Stop this right now."

"He could have been your future, too," I told him, hanging my head again. "But I took that away from you, from both of us and _I'm sorry."_

"You're only making it worse!" He got down on his own knees right next to me and gripped my upper arms so tightly it actually hurt. "Let it go, Katniss. There's nothing we can do. We can't change anything. Stop hurting yourself like this." Wetness glistened on his cheeks. "Please. There's nothing we can do."

I sucked in a painful breath and slowly turned my eyes from him to Mother and Prim. They both were frozen with shock.

My explosion, my rant.

They understood it.

"…I have to go." I got up onto my feet and began walking briskly out of the kitchen.

Peeta grabbed my arm again. "Where are you going?"

"Hunting." I yanked it back.

"You can't go! The Peacekeepers will catch you."

"Then let them." I pulled a jacket on. "After all, like you said, _there's nothing we can do."_

With that, I stormed from the house.

I was in the woods for a long time. Despite what everyone else was afraid of, people seemed to turn a blind eye on me leaving. Peacekeepers seemed to vanish when I arrived at my spot in the fence that I crawled under. After that it was just me, the forest, and the creatures that live there.

Everything screamed "Gale" at me, but it only fueled the anger that released every nocked arrow.

The haul was good when I finally got tired enough to quit in the late afternoon. I had nine rabbits, four squirrels, several different types of wild bird, a string of fish, a gallon of strawberries, and other miscellaneous plants I'd collected. When I was done, the sun was inching closer and closer to the horizon. Since my family really had no use for the food (and, okay, I didn't have the courage to face them quite then), I knew exactly where to take it.

Again, there were no Peacekeepers on the way to the Hawthorn's cabin. Light, sickly smoke curled from the chimney as I walked up to and knocked on the front door. Would Hazelle even let me in?

That question was answered a moment later when the door creaked open and the little hollow face of Posy appeared in the door. When she saw me, she went back inside, yelling for her mother. Then Hazelle appeared at the door. Her face was still tired and sad, but her hair was a little grayer and there were more wrinkles in her face than there were yesterday.

"Katniss," she observes in a soft voice. She took in the food I'd obviously brought. Her expression changed to ashamed and slightly bitter, and she hesitated before stepping back. "…I guess you'd better come in."

Wordlessly, we worked together removing and storing the food I'd brought her.

While we were wrapping the fish up in paper, Hazelle suddenly stopped and turned to me.

"You didn't have to do this," she said, but I knew otherwise. The hollowness in her and Posy's faces were enough to tell me they'd had very little to eat since Gale died.

"Yes, I did," I responded. "This is my fault, and now I'm going to do what little I can do make things better for you guys."

Gale's mother didn't say anything.

"I won't let you starve."

She turned her gaze at me. "I know, Katniss."

There was a silence for a moment. Then:

"I have something for you." Putting away the last bit of fish and wiping her hands on a dishcloth, Hazelle left the room.

A minute later she returned with something small and rectangular in her hands. "You're going to want to sit for this."

Tea was prepared and served, and we both settled around the kitchen table to cool it off while talking.

The small and rectangular something was a book. It was bound in a cheap, dusty paper and felt used and worn. There was a tiny strip of leather tied around the pages to hold it closed.

I stared at it for a long while, running my fingers over the paper. Ms. Hawthorn watched me with uncertain eyes, holding her cup of tea with both hands. One of her cheeks twitched when I opened the cover up.

The first page was mostly blank, with only a single scrawled word in the lower left hand corner.

It said one name, a familiar name.

Gale.

I flicked my gaze up the Hazelle and she shook her head sadly, but said nothing.

I looked back down at the book and turned the page. The second was full of words, in _his_ handwriting. So was the third. And fourth. Soon, I was flipping through the pages faster, absorbing words that had flowed out of his head through his hand onto the paper. I searched the pages as if searching for him, for Gale, as if I could tear him right out of the pages and wrap myself in him and his words.

Separate, detached pages slid out of the book and fluttered to the ground. I picked one up and studied it. Blotches that resembled trees, more scrawled words, dotted lines and solid lines and more symbols.

As I looked through this book—_Gale's_ book—I saw repeating patterns. Phrases and words like "running" and "protection" and "darkness" and "help" and "District 13" and names of people who I didn't recognize. Some other words would catch my eye. I saw: "sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to" and "terrified of your future" and "knew they'd eventually catch me".

For some time I just held the book in my shaking fingers, staring at Gale's words, not understanding what they meant but knowing they were meant for me. For my eyes.

Without realizing it, I'd been crying. Tears of bitter salt streamed from the corners of my eyes and splattered onto the worn wood of the table as I felt the spirit of my best friend flash through the paper, traces of him that haven't left. He really hadn't left.

Gale really hadn't left me after all. Though it was my fault he died, he was still trying to stay with me after death.

"Thank you," I said to Hazelle, holding the book to my chest. "Thank you, Hazelle. You have no idea what this means to me."

"I do, Katniss." She reached over and I gripped one of her wrinkled, calloused hands tightly and looked into her sad Seam-gray eyes. Her lips tried forming words, but it was only after two tears fell down her cheeks that the words actually came out. "I don't blame you for his death, know that. You're the strongest person I know. Don't give up hope, okay? Gale would want you to go on. For Gale, if for no one else."

"Okay," I sobbed, without even thinking before I said it. My voice cracked and my eyes ran and my throat stung with memories and emotions and words that couldn't form complete thoughts.

_Running…District 13…protect…_ All of that ran through my mind slowly, as if in molasses, trying to get around the hazy cotton of my sorrow. Then, slowly, the words began making sense. The pictures began unscrambling themselves.

Talk about District 13.

Names I'd never heard of, people to contact.

Maps, diagrams, letters written.

I knew what it all meant, and it was immediate execution for anyone caught with the book.

I knew what it meant.

My eyes slowly peeled away from the thick pages of Gale's book to Hazelle, who was still holding my hand.

"…Did you know about this?" I whispered. Fear was already building in my chest, as if Capitol people were already on their way to this house with their guns. But of course, our deaths wouldn't be as swift and painless.

Hazelle swallowed. "It is yours, Katniss, but it's not out of malice I place it in your trust. I don't want to get you in any more trouble, but it's too dangerous to have here at our house." Her tone and her hands shook at an unequal pace. "Gale meant it for you and you will have it. What you should do with it is up to you."

Suddenly, as if her body was touched with electric shock, she jolted away from me and stood up, letting a quiet tremor shake her. "You should go, Katniss."

On my way out, book firmly tied under my shirt, Hazelle stopped me and pulled me into a very tight embrace.

"Thank you for the meat, Katniss, and…and thank you for everything else. I believe in you," and she pulled away, only chancing a small, timid smile before taking a step back into her house and shutting the door behind her.

The walk home was full of thoughts as the evening air was filled with secrets, tasting metallic under my tongue.

Oh yes, I knew what Gale had given me. It was much more than just a keepsake to remember his friendship.

It was knowledge, power.

Gale had given me instructions for a new future.

Gale had given me instructions for an uprising.


	12. Chapter 12

_There I go again, not updating for months. Oh well. Happy reading! Sorry this chapter has no obvious direction. I'm having a little trouble getting back on track._

**oOo**

Dinner that night was silent. All four of us—Peeta included, since he stayed—kept our heads bowed over our food and didn't say anything.

Apparently, after I'd left, Peeta was pretty much forced to tell Prim and Mother what was going on. I couldn't say I was exactly pleased about that, but it couldn't be kept a secret for very long. Though it was obviously bothering them as much it was me, I made sure to not say a single word around them or I'd have an outburst again. Perhaps the next day I'd gather the courage to talk to them about it.

After dinner, I silently drew my jacket back on, took Peeta's hand, and we went back to his house. Maybe I didn't want to be around my family when I knew they were hurting, too, or maybe I just needed Peeta's support. At any rate, neither of us had any objections to me staying with him.

When we got inside and turned some lights on, Peeta hung up his jacket and turned to face me unsurely. "…Were you safe out there?"

I hung up my jacket as well, removed my shoes, and took a few seconds to answer. "I'm not getting whipped by the Peacekeepers right now, am I?"

"I was worried."

Our eyes met for a split second and I saw fear and insecurity in his.

"I know you were. I'm sorry." The words somehow tasted bad in my mouth, like it was painful to say them. Without really waiting for him, I dragged myself upstairs and into the first room on the right.

It was there I stole an oversized pajama top from the wardrobe, fixed myself so I was just in underwear and the PJ shirt, and crawled up into bed.

There was still a small, cold rectangle up inside my shirt, pressing against my ribs. I felt my fingers around, just to make sure it was all intact, but I was too afraid to take it out quite yet.

A few minutes after I had got into bed, Peeta came in as well. His expression was guarded, but soon grew much softer when his gaze fell upon me.

"You wear that shirt much better than I do," he said softly, trying to sound amused and lighten up the mood. "I guess it's too late to tell you to make yourself at home, then?"

"…I am at home," I murmured, staring fixedly at a piece of lint on the bedcovers, feeling the book growing heavier and heavier against my skin.

Unfortunately, Peeta noticed my odd, defensive posture and arms curved around the lump in my stolen PJs. His frown grew as he replaced his button-down with an old cotton shirt.

The wind outside hummed against the sides of the house, sending the scent of dew and forest through the cracked window. Floorboards creaked quietly as well, but in a good way. It reminded me of my rickety house back in the Seam, with constantly leaking roofs and groans against the weather. It felt kind of like a lullaby, but I did not feel lulled at all.

The secret stung my chest.

I needed to tell Peeta. I needed to tell him.

"Katniss," Peeta's soothing voice broke my momentary bout of panic as he settled next to me on the bed. His face was—as it had often been the past few days— cautious and unsure, but caring and protective.

I didn't meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry if you wanted me to keep it from your mother and Prim, but I had to tell them." He reached over hesitantly, but then drew his hand back. "I know everything is crazy, Katniss, but you…you can talk to me. You _should_ talk to me. It isn't good to hold things inside."

I just wrapped my arms around my knees and hugged them to my chest.

"…Did you go to see Hazelle?"

I looked up, meeting his blue gaze with my own so suddenly and strongly he could not look away. "You said that you would run away with me before, didn't you?"

Every calm and soothing bit in his face closed up so tight, it was like pulling a shield over his head. He almost seemed to scowl. "That's not the answer, Katniss. We can't do that. I know I said so before, but—"

"I'm not talking about running away this time," I said, interrupting him with a scowl of my own. "Don't make me regret I'm telling you anything."

"Telling me _what_?" With a tight, worried mouth and trembling hands, Peeta crossed his legs and leaned towards me, reaching a hand out again as if to touch my arm. "What's this tone for?" He flicked his gaze down to the book-shaped lump underneath my shirt and, as if knowing, curled his fingers in its direction as if to say, _Hand it over_. "Alright, Katniss, what is that? Give it here."

I curled even tighter around the book, guarding it. "I don't have to."

"Katniss."

That tone in his voice broke me. Scowling and huffing and feeling a frightened lump build in my throat once more, I stiffly pulled Gale's book out from inside my shirt, though I didn't give it to Peeta; I kept it clutched in my hands. "Please don't tell anyone," I whispered. "They could kill Hazelle. The family."

Trying to be as kind as he could, Peeta put his hand on my cheek and forced me to turn my head and look directly into his eyes.

"We can do it." My mouth was dry and tasted like sand. I tried wetting my lips. "District 13 lives. There are maps. People to talk to. Plans. Complete instructions. He knew what was coming; he anticipated it all, and he was ready. He wanted us t—"

"_Who_?"

A sharp breath sucked up my nose and I held the journal out slowly, reluctantly. "Gale."

Five minutes was all he needed.

Peeta took the journal and flipped it open, scanning pages and diagrams. As I expected, his reaction was similar to mine. Wonder at first, and then realization, and then horror. Fear.

My expression must have been too keen, because he took one look at me and started shaking his head.

"This is too dangerous, Katniss. You need to…you need to burn this. Get rid of it. It could get us killed."

"You're not even considering?" My frightful excitement deflated. "We have to do something. _I_ have to do something. We could fix this."

"There are too many risks." Peeta closed himself off and—with an impassive face—set the journal out of reach on the bedside stand behind him.

"Don't you have any hope?!" I cried, feeling the panic create a lump in my throat. I couldn't go to the Capitol on Saturday. I couldn't.

"_Katniss,"_ He grabbed my upper arms with both hands. "Stop." The grip loosened a little. "Please. We don't have the time to come up with something, okay? I recognize you're afraid, and I am too, but we can't do anything serious right now."

It felt as though my heart had dried up inside of me. Tears of hopelessness stung my eyes. "Peeta, I just killed my best friend and your own brother. I can't just sit here and do nothing." A little sob hissed from my nose and my face contorted with pain. "Please, Peeta. Please. At least help me try." I reached over and grasped his hand. "If we die at least we'll go down fighting, and we'll go down together."

The internal battle looked like it was killing him. Peeta's mouth tightened and his brows scrunched with concern and concentration and his eyes shone with saltwater as well. He looked at me as though I was a bad decision he shouldn't make, but couldn't refuse.

After what felt like years, he swallowed and took a deep breath. "I'll…I'll think about it, Katniss, but I can't make that kind of decision tonight. Not af—"

I pulled Peeta against me in a tight hug. My arms went around his neck and my face buried in his hair and my body unintentionally perched itself on his lap to hold onto him. All I could breathe was his lemony hair and the salt on my face. For a moment, I wiped my mind clean, allowed nothing to pass through my thoughts.

It was a relief while it lasted.

Peeta hushed me and gently touched his hand to my cheek, running his fingers over my unkempt hair affectionately. "…Is there anything I can do for you, Katniss? Do you want me to get you anything?"

I didn't want to be so hurt anymore. There was enough pain in my day. Week. Life, actually. I'd been in too much pain and I was sick and tired of it. It made me physically ill, and I wanted to have just a _day_ where it didn't. Obviously, that wasn't happening, and though what I _really_ wanted from Peeta was a little foolish, it didn't matter to me.

"Can you…" I felt my cheeks burn a little as I took a hand away from around Peeta to wipe my eyes. "Can you make some cheesy buns? Please?"

Peeta laughed.

It sounded like a candle would feel, lit in blackness. It gave me an odd sense of security and briefly masked the apprehension that was hanging in the room like a cloud. It made my frown smooth out, and I might even admit I smiled a little. It was an unbelievable relief to hear that laugh again.

"Of course I will, Katniss," Peeta said, blue eyes sparkling. "Do you want to come down and help?"

"Oh, I'm not…I'm not that good at…"

"Come on." He stood and offered his hand down to me.

I was only wearing a shirt and underwear, and I couldn't bake very well, but nonetheless, I took his hand and let him lead me downstairs.

The kitchen felt a little cold and neglected, unlike the one in my mother's house.

Peeta noticed me noticing and he shook his head. "I haven't really…baked a lot this week. I made a loaf of bread the night after we got back, but that was the first and only time it's been used in weeks."

I said nothing to him, just looked around the kitchen and tried to decide what to do with myself. I felt somewhat useless, and still sad.

"Do me a favor and get the packet of yeast from that cupboard over there." After pointing, Peeta busied himself with pulling ingredients and dishware from the cabinets.

It went like that.

Peeta would give me a little job to do and I would do it silently, but willingly. Every now and again, our eyes would meet and he'd smile at me a little smile that just barely crinkled the corners of his eyes and I'd just barely smile back.

He showed me how to knead the dough and we ended up getting flour all over the counters and floor and ourselves. Somehow, with the passing moments, I felt my heart grow a little lighter. I knew that it wouldn't last long, but I refused to let myself have another breakdown that day.

While he was busy grating cheese over a bowl, I stole a little bit of it and stuck it in my mouth to let it melt on my tongue.

"Hey, now." Peeta smiled at me again with exasperation. "No stealing ingredients."

I stole a little more and scooted away from him so he couldn't get me.

He did anyways.

It was an alien feeling of giddiness that made a laugh bubble up from the back of my throat and pass my lips. Maybe it was the hope that maybe we'd finally be able to fix things again (with the instructions Gale left in his book), but either way, it started my laughter.

When he heard it, Peeta's face began glowing with a happiness I hadn't seen in a long time. He put the cheese grater down and pulled me into a surprising kiss.

It meant more to me than he could have ever given. I felt a little bad that I disregarded Prim and my mother's attention and pity, but that wasn't what I needed. Knowing what I'd done, I couldn't stand to look in their sweet, innocent faces and know I'd ruined them. To have them try and comfort me made it so much worse.

I'd explain it to them another time. Right then, that night, I didn't want to think about it.

My hands curled on Peeta's chest and I leaned against him, reluctant to break the kiss quite then. Peeta had curled his arms around my waist and laced his fingers behind my back. He was obviously reluctant to break away, too, but did so eventually so we could breathe.

There was a silence, in which neither of us moved. Then Peeta laughed.

"…Let's finish the buns, shall we?" he said, pausing to give me another short kiss on the forehead before going back to the baking.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

After the buns were done to perfection, all soft and gooey with melting cheese, we took them back upstairs to curl up in bed and eat them. It was too wonderful, sitting there with blankets wrapped around our waists, a platter of fresh-baked cheesy buns to eat, cool night air coming in through the window and mingling with the fireplace heat that had warmed the whole house.

Part of me felt a little embarrassed at how… flippant I'd behaved in the kitchen, but after a few minutes with Peeta there made me regret nothing. It was unlike me to dismiss any sort of terrified feelings, but there was no harm in just a day to myself. I would have exploded otherwise, and I wouldn't be any help to anyone in bloody pieces on the sidewalk.

Peeta noticed the change, of course. Who wouldn't have? He waited a little bit before saying anything.

When I noticed that he'd set down a half-eaten bun, I set mine down, too, and puckered my lips in concern.

"You're probably going to have to talk to your mother and Prim some time," he said, leaning back on his hands and not looking at me. "It's kind of unfair for them."

I picked at my ragged thumbnail. "…Life's not fair." It was a terrible argument, and when he gave me a _look_, I let out a sigh and sank a little into the pillows. "I know that I need to talk to them. I know."

A frightened lump began forming in my throat. Sure, it might have already been explained to them already, but how can I face them after they know? How could I admit to them that I did what I did?

Trying my best not to get emotional again, I pulled the covers over me and rolled onto my side, facing away from Peeta and curled in a fetal position.

"Katniss."

My hands trembled.

"Please, Katniss. Be a grown-up about this." Peeta tried pulling the covers from my face but I shrank deeper in them.

"I never wanted them to know," I whispered, all happy feelings gone. "Now they're going to hate me."

There was a small noise that was the platter of buns getting set on one of the bedside tables, and then the bed bounced a little as Peeta lay down next to me, sliding deep under the covers as I was until there was no barrier between us.

"They don't hate you, Katniss…" He said gently, winding one of his arms around my waist, holding me against him. His breath warmed the back of my neck. "They don't."

It was quite brave of him to be touching me like that when I was upset; normally if that happened I would have pushed him away. I didn't.

"What, then?" The trembling had moved from my hands to my entire body. Overly happy, overly sad. There was no middle. "What did they say?"

Peeta pressed his cheek against the top of my head in thought.

"Were they angry at you?"

"…A little at first." When he laughed, it was shaky and unsure. "Ok, a lot. They were really angry, but it turned into sadness after a while. Then they hugged me, telling me to tell you that…"

"That what?"

"That they were sorry. For everything." Subconsciously, Peeta drew his hand back and it skimmed my stomach and my hip. "They're as scared as us, Katniss, _for _us. They love you very much, you know."

The lump in my throat had grown to the size of an elephant. Trying to breathe around it, I flipped onto my other side, facing him, eyes burning. "I can't do this to them, Peeta. We have to leave."

"I know…" He brushed his fingers in my hair gently, and even in the darkness under the covers I thought I could still see the blue of his eyes. "I know."

For a moment, I thought Peeta was just saying that to appease me. His touch was gentle and his words quiet, and I realized he _did _know. Still, it would mean risking our lives and the lives of everyone we've ever loved.

"I'll go with you to Haymitch tomorrow," Peeta promised. "We'll tell him about the book and see what he thinks, okay?"

The offer was more than I could have ever hoped from him, especially after he'd expressed so much aversion to the idea. It was hard to tell whether that made me want to cry more or less.

"Hey, Peeta?" I whispered.

"Yes?"

"Do you still think I'm pretending?"

Peeta didn't answer.

After a little bit of his silence, I took the blanket and pulled it down off of our heads. Light flooded our eyes, making it hard to see for a second. When my vision cleared up, however, I could see that Peeta was smiling.

"What?" I insisted.

He tweaked my nose. "Nothing. _Are _you still pretending?"

The question offended me a little. "Of course not."

"Then I believe you."

Though it wasn't really that simple, I just accepted it.

Silence settled upon the room like dust, and it lasted for a long time.

I thought of a lot of things. I thought of the days before the Games, the pretty cakes at the bakery window and the sound of rain on our leaky Seam room. I thought of my father and of Gale. I thought of my mother and of Prim. I thought of the first Games, and then the second. I thought of the days in the Capitol and on the train.

My hand absentmindedly stroked circles on my stomach, and when I pulled my head out of the clouds long enough to look at Peeta, his expression was guilty as he gazed down where my hand was.

_Not this again._

Peeta let a breath slip from his nose, a miserable sigh that killed whatever happy vibes we had left. "I was being so stupid," he murmured, reaching to just barely brush his fingers against mine. "I caused you so much pain…" That was the exact same thing he said that morning.

"I'm not arguing about this again," I said, taking his hand away from my stomach. "It's ridiculous."

"You're not even going to let me apologize?"

"No." Outside, the breeze was picking up. With the mood it sent chills of unusually cold summer wind inside, so I got up to shut the window. "If we got to complain and point blame at one person for every problem we have, then we'll be here all night saying that it was your mother's fault Prim's goat died. It's idiotic and pointless. What's done is done. We just need to learn to actually protect ourselves next time."

A surprised shade of red colored Peeta's cheeks at the words "next time".

"Besides," I went over to the wardrobe and grabbed a fresh towel from the bottom drawer, "things can and _will_ get worse. We might as well accept the small mistakes and move on."

With that, I left Peeta looking still guilty and a confused to vanish into the bathroom for a shower.

So that's what it came to, I guess. Forcing myself to pretend that I was happy for my own sake, taking two showers a day so I could cry off what I'd kept inside. I could take fifty showers, for all the difference it made. Something inside of me was trying to convince the rest of me that I needed to be stronger than that. It said for me to be happy and enjoy the time I had at home, to not worry because there was nothing that I could do for the time being.

Enjoy being with Peeta, smile, laugh. That's what that part of me told me to do. I'd tried while making those cheesy buns and, for a second, I _did _feel happy. As soon as I realized I'd doomed everyone I loved, however, it just wasn't the same. My body was at war with itself, and it was driving me mad.

The numerous showers a day was just my self-pity time. They weren't doing any good.

I shut off the water, dried myself off, and then dressed back in the clothes I'd worn in there: nothing except for a big T-shirt and underwear. To some it may seem like a terrible choice of clothes for me to wear to bed with Peeta, especially since we were teenagers, unmarried, unrelated in any way, and not necessarily intimate. Whatever, though. He didn't mind.

When I looked, the girl in the bathroom mirror seemed alive (for once), but I wasn't entirely sure how that was. I _felt_ fairly ill, but my reflection had color in her cheeks and muscle on her bones and a strong tilt to her chin.

Resisting the urge to spit at the deceiving girl in the mirror, I tossed my towel over the shower rod and trudged out, gripping a comb I'd found on the counter in a hand.

Peeta was on the bed, back propped up against the headboard, Gale's book open on his lap. He was in a pair of plaid PJ bottoms and thin white shirt that was stretched over the muscles of his torso.

When he saw me come back in, Peeta closed the book and tucked it safely away in the nightstand drawer. "Is everything okay? You were only in there for a few minutes."

"I'm fine," I replied, and made a half-hearted attempt to run the comb through my hair.

He motioned for me to sit and so I did, nestled cross-legged in front of him as he took the comb from me and began working at the knots.

"If you're really serious about…about doing this, Katniss, then we shouldn't be wasting any time," Peeta was saying as he gently detangled my ragged, dripping hair. "I think talking to Haymitch is a good first move, but then what? The risks, Katniss—"

"I know the risks," I interrupted, pulling my knees up to my chest. "I know, okay? I don't know what our next move will be. I haven't even actually read Gale's book all the way. Just skimmed it."

"Then that would be out next move after Haymitch." Though a little amusement was in his voice, there was also sadness and worry, as usual. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will talk to Haymitch and you'll talk to your family."

"Does it have to be tomor—?"

"Yes, it does," Peeta made me tilt my head up and ran the comb straight down my part, "and it will be. How much you tell them is up to you. In fact, if you'll wait until we know more about this, ah…_plan_ we're brewing, it'll probably be best not to mention anything about it to them."

Something in his voice made me incredulous. It sounded almost as if…he was just going along with this to amuse me. Just you wait, Peeta Mellark. You'll think you've had me satisfied and fooled right up until our plan is actually starting to work. Then who'll be laughing, hm? He'll see.

When Peeta was finished combing my hair, he put it back into my usual braid and then turned me so I was facing him, drowning in my too-big shirt and hands still shaking a little. He looked like he wanted to say something to me; his brows were furrowed and lips parted just a bit. Shaking that off, he glanced sideways at the platter on the nightstand. There were still two cheesy buns left, not counting the halves we'd set down earlier.

"…I'll bet they're still warm if you want another."

When Peeta offered me one, I took it, sliding my legs back under the covers and snuggling against his side. The shower had left me feeling surprisingly cold, but the cheesy bun and the warm body next to me felt a little better.

"I really don't understand you sometimes…" Peeta's voice was gentle and soft, as was his touch when he reached over to tuck a bit of my hair behind my ear.

Not looking at him, I asked, "Is that such a terrible thing?"

"Not at all." He smiled tiredly and turned the alarm clock to see what time it was. "I take it you're staying tonight?"

"No. I was planning on leaving as soon as I ate the rest of your food." I swallowed the last bit of my snack and brushed the crumbs off of the blanket. "You know, seeing as how I'm not wearing pants and already tucked into bed."

"You don't have to be so hostile about it." After yawning widely, Peeta settled himself under the covers and turned on his side, shaggy blond hair spreading across his pillow.

"That wasn't hostility; that was sarcasm."

I settled down, too, but wasn't quite ready for sleep.

Wind from outside battered the walls, making eerie howling noises as it flew. Occasionally, the house would let out a creak, but it held up and kept us somewhat warm through the small windstorm. From what I could see out the window, the sky was already a deep shade of blue, the film of clouds covering up any light from the stars.

Beyond that window, at an angle I couldn't quite see from where I was, the forest stretched on for miles. Nocturnal animals would be out for the hunt at that time: owls searching the skinny underbrush, panthers lurking in the branches of trees, wild dogs gathering in packs to sing their nightly song.

"Katniss?"

I turned my head to the other side of me to see Peeta's back. He had his head slightly turned as well, and I could just barely see his long eyelashes over the dip in his temple.

"What?"

"…I love you."

Those three words weren't spoken like he was needy, or wanting to get intimate or anything. He said them in a way one would say something like, "What a beautiful sunset."

Letting out a sigh, I slipped one of my arms around him to find his hand curled at his chest, and I held it. "I love you, too." My forehead rested against his shoulder. "Good night."

"Sleep well."

Though it took some time, I managed to finally drift off to the wind howling with the wolves as they sang into the empty night.

**oOo**

_Well golly gee. That wasn't too bad, was it? Next chapter will have more direction._

_Love all of you, and PLEASE review! Please! My birthday is on the 31__st__, and I'm not going to be updating before then, so might as well give me my early birthday present now and review!_

_Have a good week, y'all._


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